


Protective Bonds

by Sadie Dragonfire (justbolts)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Companionable Snark, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Forced Cohabitation, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Magical Bond, Sharing a Bed, Slow Romance, Unknown feelings, Written Pre-Order of the Phoenix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-26
Updated: 2001-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 08:17:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20404573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbolts/pseuds/Sadie%20Dragonfire
Summary: Hermione discovers a book with an interesting protection spell.  Testing it out has unforeseen consequences for Harry and Draco.





	Protective Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> I promised myself I'd get this one moved over here eventually. My first big completed fic.
> 
> Re-posted from FF.net with minor edits in 2019.

The book landed on the table with a force that caused both its contents and those sitting at it to jump. Ron let out an indignant yelp as his quills tumbled to the floor and Harry just managed to save the ink bottle before it doused their homework beyond recognition. Both frowned up at Hermione, who stood before them panting in triumph.

“Here, look what I found!” She dropped into one of the chairs and opened the heavy book, flipping rapidly through the yellowed pages. “It’s very old and handwritten to boot! Half the pages aren’t even readable anymore. They were moving that suit of armo r-- you know the one just round the corner from Charms class? -- And this was stuck under the foot. Must have been used to balance it, since the right leg is about three inches shorter than the left. Anyway, I snagged it before anyone else noticed and I looked through it and found this....”

Having tuned out halfway through Hermione’s ramble, Harry was shocked anew when the book landed in the middle of his parchment, sending a few loose paper drifting. Baffled at what could have excited Herimone enough to interrupt their work, he leaned over the book and squinted at the scrawled writing.

Most of the title was badly smeared, leaving ‘Protection B----’ set toward the left of page. Only the top of the following paragraph was legible, the rest blurred as though splattered with water.

‘This spell protects you against your worst enemy by making that enemy unable to bring harm to you. It is the most powerful and effective protection spell of this nature. It wor---’ that was it. The spell itself was completely intact, if a little hard on the eyes. Harry frowned and read through the first paragraph again, squinting harder the see if he could pick any words out of the blurred ink.

“Hmm, figure you’d get all excited over some stupid old book.” Ron said and dropped his rescued quills back on the table. Hermione looked like she wanted to stick her tongue out at him but it was beneath her to do so. Ron had a similar look; only he would have added a raspberry noise for effect. Hermione narrowed her eyes and imagined making a rude gesture. Harry interrupted this unusual staring contest by nudging Ron.

“Here, read this.” He slid the book toward his friend. Ron leaned over it, forehead lightly brushing Harry’s. Hermione fidgeted slightly in her seat as Ron scanned the page. After a while, his reddish eyebrows jumped in surprise.

“Huh.”

“Oh, is that all you have to say?”

“Huh,” he said again, challenging Hermione through his bangs. Harry sighed helplessly. The two had been picking at each other since just a few months after summer vacation. There wasn’t anything nasty about it, more like playful teasing, but it got annoying to witness.

“It looks interesting,” Harry said, “But what would we use it for?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “For you, nit! Just imagine if You-Know-Who couldn’t hurt you?”

“I already had a protection spell like that,” Harry muttered, uncomfortable with the memory. “He found a way around that.”

Ron looked startled and ashamed at his comment. “Well, well...another one can’t hurt!”

“I wasn’t suggesting actually using it.” Hermione emphasized, “I thought we should show it to the teachers first.”

“Why bother with that? We could get all this stuff --” He waved at the page. “-- ourselves. The Professors would just dither about it ‘til there’s no point anymore!”

“But we don’t know exactly how it works or what the dangers are!” Hermione said, “For all we know, it could turn Harry into a wart on You-Know-Who’s neck! Can’t hurt him there for sure, and wouldn’t that be a lovely thing to explain to Professor Dumbledore later?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the idea of becoming a wart. He glanced over the page again, noticing that Ron was right---they could get all of the ingredients on their own. Hmm...have to wait a couple weeks until the stars were the right alignment, but that would give them time to collect everything. He frowned. Did he really want to try this? Of course, any extra protection against the Dark Lord would be worth the effort. But Hermione was right, maybe...

“Maybe if we tried it with someone else.” Harry interrupted whatever comeback Ron was working on. His friends turned to blink at him. “I mean, someone not super important and do it here at Hogwarts. If something goes wrong, well then, the Professors could fix it.”

They watched him for moment, then looked at each other, eyes communicating in a way that had begun to make Harry feel horribly left out. Apparently, they reached some kind of an agreement, because Hermione nodded and Ron asked;

“Who?”

Harry frowned. “Um...someone who hates me, but not enough to kill me if something goes wrong.”

“Snape?” Ron suggested.

“Oh heavens, no!” said Hermione, affronted at the very idea. “He may be a jerk, but he’s still a teacher. Besides, even if it did work, we’d be years paying for it”

“Hermione’s right,” Harry said, “It has to be a student.”

Suddenly, Ron’s eyes light up. “Malfoy.” He grinned. “No, just think about it! He hates Harry, but he’s a student and if the spell works, then he won’t let his dad touch Harry.”

“And if the spell doesn’t work?”

“We hope for the best.”

“Ruddy good plan there.”

“Shut up. So, Harry?”

Harry frowned, turning it over in his head a few times. It would be nice to get Draco off his back and since his Dad’s buddies with Voldemort---well, that would be an added bonus. He thought for a breath longer then decided.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

__________________________

Draco Malfoy prided himself on many things. His good looks, wealth, magical talent, but most of all, he prided his ability to cause suffering and annoyance to one Harry Potter. The fact that Potter seemed to have an equal talent in regard to Draco himself only worked to goad him. For after all, he was a Malfoy and Malfoy’s were nothing if not vindictive.

Of course, many of his attempts at revenge tended to backfire rather spectacularly, but that was beside the point.

An essential part of Potter-torture meant being keenly aware of what he and his reject friends were up to. The sudden absence of leaves on several of Professor Sprout’s rare plants; the now-half-empty bottle of powdered Centaur’s hoof from Potions class; and the muttering insistence of Flich that someone was prowling the halls at night again, had not gone unnoticed by Draco. It all added up quickly in his mind and had Potter stamped all over it. He wondered whether to get involved or not.

Draco did some quick mental calculations and decided that after that incident with the frogs and cherry pie, he and Harry were on the same level in the humiliation department. Potter was past due for the next plunge into shame. As long as he didn’t take Draco with him.

Ignoring a vague sense of foreboding, Draco rearranged his schedule to include eavesdropping.

_______________________________

“Now we just have to get Malfoy in the right spot...”

“Actually, that’s the easy part.” When the two boys stared at her with identically blank expressions, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Really you two. After all this time I would have thought you learned something.” Enlightenment refused to dawn. With the sigh of one dwelling amidst shocking stupidity, she motioned the two to follow her.

They continued to remain clueless as Hermione lead them through one hallway into the next. Around this corner, past that portrait, dodging a Hufflepuff here and a ghost there. Harry and Ron were just beginning to wonder if she’d lost whatever sense she had, when Hermione suddenly grabbed them, hauled them behind a half-open door, and announced in an overly loud dramatic ‘whisper’:

“SO! We’ll do it in the south tower on the second floor where there’s an old classroom in the back. Two o’clock should be the perfect time. Right?”

In response to her glare, the boys belatedly and loudly agreed . Somewhere down to their left came a faint noise, a barely stifled “Ha!”, and then rapid footsteps scurrying away. They waited until the footsteps vanished before going back into the hall.

“Wha--how did you--?” Ron demanded, eyes wide. Hermione smiled.

“Come on, did you really think Draco Malfoy hadn't noticed what we’ve been doing? The boy is obsessed! Of course he’d be looking for a chance to foil our plans,” She flipped her hair, “One must simply find the right mouse to catch the snake.”

“How did you know that was Malfoy?” wondered Harry, slightly miffed that he hadn’t thought of it.

“Saw his reflection in the window.”

“Sheer brilliance.”

“I’d like to think so,” Hermione said, ignoring any sarcasm.

“And if he tells a Professor instead of showing up himself...?”

“Well, we’ll just have to hope for the best then, won’t we?”

_________________________

The old classroom was filled with dust and broken desks, and the occasional spider for decoration. They weren’t quite sure why the room unused, though it may be because it had the odd habit of vanishing on rainy Thursdays. Since it was neither raining nor Thursday, it was the perfect place for a little unprecedented spell casting.

Hermione had made Harry practice the spell to a fare-thee-well, to make sure there weren’t any mistakes. He could confidently say he could repeat the spell in his sleep. She was currently coating the end of Harry’s wand with the formula they had made. Harry listened at the door and Ron measured the exact area where he would have to stand. Since the spell required he be in direct starlight when reciting the incantation, they had to make sure he got the full advantage of the room’s one window.

“Okay, got it,” Ron said, finishing up his smiley face on the floor, “Now we just have to wait for our star.” He tossed his chalk into a convenient corner and joined Hermione behind a half circle of upturned desks. Harry had left the Invisibility Cloak with them, despite Hermione’s teasing instance that they could cower out of sight just fine.

Right now, he wished he had the cloak for himself. 

I can’t believe I’m really going through with this, he thought and winced, Lovely Potter, we spend weeks planning for this and now you get cold feet. He could vaguely hear Ron and Hermione nattering on about something. Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps outside the door.

With a sharp hiss at his friends, Harry rushed to a spot just in the shadows. There, he could see whoever was coming up the stairs before they could see him. After a minute of tense silence, the door opened.

Draco Malfoy, present and accounted for.

Harry tensed, muscles clenching in anticipation of movement. The few seconds it took Draco to step further into the room, eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of life, stretched endlessly. Then suddenly they were over and Harry was moving forward. He barely registered the surprise on Draco’s face as he came to stand over the smiley face, wand rising automatically. His--albeit underdeveloped--survival instinct took that instant to start blaring alarms, but the words were already tumbling out his mouth.

They seemed to hang in the air between them, given form by the starlight before converging on his wand in glowing silver radiance. Draco really had no time to react to this ‘attack’ as threads of light spun out from the end of Harry’s wand, lashing outward like intelligent snakes. The threads looped around Draco’s body.

“Hey!” he yelped, hands batting at the threads. He didn’t get very far and shortly he was entwined in them. Draco froze, eyes wide and glazed. Harry could hear Ron’s cheerful shout behind him and felt a sickening drop in his stomach at the blank look on Draco’s face. It was all happening so fast.

There was no time to move as the threads changed to bright red and doubled back, heading to Harry. Shimmering red brilliance danced across his vision and he only had time for one thought before darkness swept over his mind:

Oops.

________________________

Voices hovered on the edges of his awareness.

“-- not even fully understood how it worked!”

“We were only trying to help!”

“Well help or not, you’ve caused a great deal of trouble.”

“Is he...is he going to be okay?”

“Yes, they will both be fine, but there is a reason this type of spell was banned.”

Softly. “We didn’t know...”

Something wrong. Something missing. Where was...?

A gasp. “Oh! He’s moving! Harry!”

Hands touching, grabbing. Not what I want, leave me alone!

“Wait Harry, what’s wrong? You should stay in bed!”

“Don’t fight us!”

“Back off you two I thought this might...well, let's just step back and see.”

The obstacles were gone now. Body not working quite right...there it goes. Have to find the missing part, so close, it’s near. A few steps, three, two, there! Warm skin under his hands, the other one moving to allow him space. So tired, but all here, all parts together. Settling down next to the other one, arms wrapped securely around him.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Ron!”

Silence.

____________________________

The first thing Harry noticed was how warm and comfortable he was. His head and the right side of his body were resting on something solid, warm, and moving. Moving? Yeah, that’s right, a slow, soothing, up and down motion. His other senses began sending him reports. A faintly musky, pine tree scent filled his nose. The sound of even breathing came from above him, while puffs of air stirred his bangs. And damned if that weren’t a hand resting on his shoulder blades.

Oh, okay, I’m in bed with someone, he thought. Normally this would have set off alarms, but in his muddled state, all he felt was pride at his leap of brilliance. I should know who it is. Rather silly to be in bed with someone and not know who it is.

Pleased with this idea, he shifted around to bring his companion’s face into better view. He opened his eyes to find the world terribly out of focus. [Ooh, right. Glasses.] Harry pushed himself up further, right arm casting about what looked vaguely like a bedside table in hopes of finding his glasses. The chest under him heaved with a deep breath and the arm around him tightened in response to his movement. Finally, his hands closed around cool metal and glass. With a little ‘aha!’ of triumph, he fitted his glasses in place and peered up at his bedmate. 

A pale, slender face surrounded by ash blond hair rested against the pillow, dark lashes setting lightly on soft cheeks, twitching with the movement of the eyes beneath. The thin lips were partly open, tinted with only the faintest hint of color. Skin the color of eggshells, smooth and annoying flawless, stretched over high cheekbones, along the pointed jawline, and up to the tip of a narrow nose christened with a spot of sunburn. 

[Nice.] Harry thought distantly. He really didn’t know why he was in bed with Draco, but at that moment, it didn’t really matter. It just felt right. Draco’s ice gray eyes opened to meet his own vivid green ones. Reality took that moment to perk-up and say ‘hi!’

“Aah!” Harry jerked upright, nearly throwing himself from the bed in his haste, scrambling to the foot of the bed. Draco for his part scooted backwards against the headboard. Almost instantly, Harry felt a tugging sensation somewhere in his chest. It stopped him from retreating further, no matter how much he wanted to.

“You!” Draco spat, the word dripping with venom. “What the hell did you think you’re doing?!”

“It was a protection spell!” snapped Harry.

Draco gave him a dirty look. “I meant now, you twit.”

“What, in bed with you? Sleeping,” Harry said, “Do you honestly think I would be doing anything else?”

“How should I know? You were the one the sprawled all over me!”

“Like I’d be there by choice! I’d rather go curl up with Fang, at least I’d be in better company.” 

While they argued, an increasingly persistent pain burrowed its way into Harry’s temples, like ice picks being driven into his skull.

“And you’d be round your own kind too,” sneered Draco. He winced slightly, eyebrows drawn together as if he suffered a headache.

“Better dogs than ferrets!” said Harry hotly. Draco’s face turned red with anger.

“You’re as worthless as your Mudblood mother...”

Hurt and anger flared up in Harry, his fists clenching automatically. “Shut up! You know nothing about my mother!”

“I know enough, I’ve had to deal with her mistake for years...”

The pain in his temples increased just as Draco gasped suddenly and hunched over, bringing his hand up to his head. Harry’s anger floated away before concern. He started to reach out to the other boy.

[What am I doing?!?] It was an effort to force his hand back to his side; an effort that was painful, as the tugging in his chest grew stronger and the pain in his head became lancing agony. The ice picks had become jackhammers. [What is this...?] He realized that Draco was reaching for him and he just reacted, wrapping his fingers around Draco’s. Instantly the pain faded, replaced by a warm fuzzy feeling reminiscent of how he felt when he woke up.

For a moment, Harry just enjoyed the feeling, allowing himself to shift closer to Draco as the source of his comfort. Unfortunately, the warm-fuzzies didn’t last very long before fading and Harry and Draco were left glaring at each other over their joined hands. They reached a mutual unspoken agreement that this was the start of something very bad.

“This is your fault.” Draco said sullenly, tugging Harry’s hand but making no attempt to end the hold. Harry frowned and forego responding.

In the following five minutes, Harry considered letting go of Draco’s hand, both on general principles and the fact that he really had to go pee, but he never got past the thinking part. Draco just glared at the wall and muttered dire threats under his breath. Eventually, the door opened and the teens looked up to see Madam Pomfrey enter the ward. She deposited a pile of cloth bandages on a counter and turned to face them.

“Well, you’re awake. And quite a bit of a spot you’ve gotten yourselves into.”

“It’s not my fault! I demand that something be done about this!” Draco said imperiously, lifting his and Harry’s joined hands for emphasis. Madam Pomfrey eyed him thoughtfully.

“Sadly, there is nothing for me to do.” She dusted off her hands, “I suppose you’re hungry. Go wash up and I’ll bring you something to eat. After that, I’ll explain something of what happened.”

“WHAT!” Draco jumped up, yanking Harry face down on the bed. “You can’t just leave us like this! I’ll going to tell my father about this!” Harry quietly informed the bed sheets of his opinion of that venture. “This is intolerable! My father will see you all fired if you don’t reverse whatever it is this idiot did...ow.”

Draco swayed and sat back down on the bed, looking startled and dismayed. Harry scooted closer to the other boy until he was pressed against Draco’s lower back, feeling irrationally bothered by Draco’s discomfort. This was starting to get strange. 

Madam Pomfrey was nodding wisely, as though Draco had said something profound.

“I’ll explain all in my own time. Right now it’s more important that you eat and relax some. Now go wash up.” She stated again, pointing the way to the hospital wing bathroom. “I’ll be back soon.” With that, she left them.

Draco craned his neck around and frowned at Harry’s closeness. “I hate you,” he said.

“Likewise.” Harry directed his frown at the bedding, uncomfortably aware Draco’s warmth against his body. What was even more worrying was that a part of him enjoyed it. Blushing suddenly, he sat up. “Come on.” Harry slid his legs off the bed, shifting his grip from Draco’s hand to his wrist.

“Ordering me around now, Potter?” Draco said, lacking some of his usual rancor.

“Yes, next I’m going to make you lick my boots. C’mon, I have to use the privy.” He stood and began pulling Draco. The other wasn’t helping any. “Malfoy, this isn’t easy for me either --“

“Like I’m supposed to care about that,” Draco said waspishly, his lower lip pushed out in a pout. Harry thought he looked amazingly childish.

“Maybe not, but you don’t have to make any harder.” He applied more pressure. Finally, Draco gave in and stood. Still pouting, the blond boy took the lead, practically dragging Harry after him.

[Well, quite a frustrating turn of events. This has to be because of that spell. Why else the headaches? And how come care what Draco Malfoy feels? Draco suffering usually means a good day for me. But...I don’t understand what went wrong with that spell.] He shook his head to clear it as Draco yanked him in the general direction of the toilet.

“Go on then.”

“Um...I need my hand.” He meant that Draco should transfer his touch to another body part, but Draco instead jerked his wrist free of Harry’s grip and...

Pain, searing through his head, pounding in his chest, driving away all thoughts.

Harry cried out, all but jumping towards Draco. Their bodies collided and they clung to each other as the pain ebbed away. It appeared that now that the spell had them together, it wasn’t about to let them separate again. Once the happy-tingly feeling left, Harry had to face the fact that he was snuggling a Malfoy, of all people. They jerked apart, Harry blushing faintly through his glare and Draco looking ready to hit someone.

The day was just getting better and better.

After taking turns relieving themselves, and washing their hands and faces (somehow managing to keep in physical contact the entire time), they returned to the ward. Madam Pomfrey was back with sandwiches, flagons of pumpkin juice, and chocolate pudding. She hustled out before they had a chance to question her. With a bit of shifting around, the pair settled to eat, bare feet touching to free their hands.

“The thing about you Potter,” Draco spoke around his bread, breaking an otherwise pleasant silence, “Is that you just can’t stand to have other people think badly of you. No, no, everyone has to love the Great Harry Potter.”

“Did I ever tell you that you’re daft?” Harry asked rather politely. “I grew up around people who would held cockroaches in higher esteem than they did me. I honestly don’t give a bloody damn either way.” Not entirely true, since such disregard always hurt and made life difficult, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Malfoy.

“Right, like I believe that,” snorted Draco. He paused, evidently thinking of something worse to say. Harry really wished Hermione hadn’t found that book.

“After all, the way you and your friends prance around here like you own the place...”

“Oh, like you’re to talk...”

“That’s different.” Draco grinned nastily, “Far as you’re concerned, Potter, I do own the place.”

“Can you get anymore conceited?”

“You know what they say; ‘It’s not bragging if it’s true’.” Draco was smirking now, far more comfortable in his natural element of teasing Harry. He moved so that his back was resting against the headboard, Harry’s ankle balanced on top of his “You can believe all you want about being the ‘greatest wizard ever’, but deep down, you know you’re nothing.”

The comment was so close to what Harry often thought about himself that he was caught momentarily without reply. He was more bothered by Draco’s insight than his attempt at an insult. The blond boy was looking very pleased with himself, cleaning his spoon of pudding with an agile tongue.

Harry said the first thought that came to mind; “Well, puts us on the same level, don’t it?”

Draco froze in the act of licking his fingers, pale and startled. “What do you know?” he snarled harshly.

“Only what I see,” Harry said, the words coming out softer than he intended

Any further conversation was halted when Ron Weasley burst in the room, all windblown red hair and freckles.

“Harry!” Ron stopped, eyes riveted to their overlapping feet. “I am so sorry,” he said fervently, looking like he had just signed his best friend’s death warrant.

“You should be,” Draco replied, reverting to being sulky and annoyed. “You’re the first one I’m going after when this mess is fixed.”

Ron favored Draco with a look normally reserved that really icky something found on the bottom of your shoe after walking through a swamp. “Go ahead and try.”

“Believe me, I intend to.”

Harry sighed and buried his head in his hands. Maybe he could just throw himself from the top of a tower, surely they could find a way to defeat Voldemort on their own, and he could just end his suffering in peace.

“Oh Harry! I’m so sorry!” Hermione burst into the room then, nearly bowling over Ron in the process. Harry freed one hand from his face and waved it reassuringly.

“I know, I know. It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but it also wasn’t as though everyone being upset and apologetic was going to solve anything.

“Good, you’re all here,” Madam Pomfrey said, striding into the room. She nudged aside Hermione and placed the book with the offending spell on a table. “Now listen up cause I’m only going to explain this once! Now, the spell you found has been banned for the past one hundred and seventy years, with good reason. It was originally designed from an old love spell. It works by binding your life force and emotions with that of your enemy’s. Thus, when you are hurt or injured, your enemy experiences the same pain. It’s doubled when they cause the pain themselves and if you get killed, they die too.

“When done correctly, it’s completely one-sided. However, spells involving emotions and life energy are extremely tricky things. Especially when another emotion has been mistaken for hate. Because the original design was for the spell to be two-sided, it automatically tries to double back and bond both enemy and caster together. That’s why it requires a third person to cast the counter spell--“

“But I looked through the whole book!” Hermione interrupted, “I didn’t find anything remotely like a counterspell!”

Pomfrey’s lips pressed together in annoyance. Silently, she flipped open the book to exact page with the spell, turned it over, and pointed to the jagged edge of a torn page nestled between the pages. “Evidently, you didn’t look hard enough.”

Hermione turned red.

“So there is no counter spell?” Draco asked uneasily.

“No, I can locate it later in the restricted section. But it must be cast before the primary spell has been completed. It’s useless otherwise. Sorry dears, but all you can do is wait for it to fade. And don’t worry, it will fade to almost nothing given the time. We’ll all just have to be patient.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief. Okay, so it wasn’t the best situation, but it was certainly better than being stuck with Malfoy for the rest of his life. Ron appeared to agree and grinned broadly.

“So, when can we toss the ferret?”

Draco sat up, face darkening with anger, but Madam Pomfrey was speaking.

“Hmm, the need for constant physical contact should be gone in a week, you’ll still be fairly touchy though. In a few months you’ll be able to go for hours at time without seeing each other--“

[Months?] Harry thought, his stomach sinking. Beside him Draco let out a sound of dismay.

“---I’d say about a year or so before you can live normally and separately again.”

_______________

For an endless moment, all Harry could comprehend was that he was going to be spending the next year exclusively in Draco Malfoy’s company. A whole entire year with Draco’s leer, his teasing, his attitude, his...everything! No escape, no time outs, no please-leave-before-I-hurt-you, and worse yet, he’d want it that way. If his current condition were any indication, he’d probably make every effort to keep Draco near him. God, that was a scary thought. With a feeling of perfect calm, Harry turned to look at where Ron and Hermione stood.

“You understand that I hate you both now. Nothing personal, truly,” he said almost cheerfully, “I just wanted to warn you now so you’re not surprised when I snub you in the halls and spread nasty rumors about you.” 

Hermione frowned in a ‘it’s not my fault and I’m insulted you would suggest otherwise’ kind of way, but Ron was nodding. “Under the circumstances, I don’t blame you.”

“I would like to note that I hate all three of you very much and it is indeed personal.” Draco said. He looked like a ruffled, annoyed cat that’d gotten a rather nasty shock at some point and wanted to claw to death the person responsible for it. Harry glanced at him, trying to come to terms with the fact that he was going to be looking at that face for a long time.

[We’re going to have to shower together. Not just in the same room, but right next to each other, touching each other.] A panicky feeling twisted his stomach and his face heated up. [Whoa! Bad thought, don’t need that image. Maybe I can wash with my eyes closed.] But the idea of Draco seeing him naked up close was even more disturbing. To stand there knowing that those cold gray eyes were watching his every move, seeing every bit of him bare and exposed --

Okay, he was officially blushing now. Not to mention the other reactions his body was threatening, which he currently lacked the mental capacity to evaluate. [Snape in a tutu, Snape in a tutu.] He closed his eyes and thought strongly of that particular picture until he calmed down. Draco’s foot was pushing at his with unnecessary force.

“You’re going to get it when my father finds out about this. Your dad will be out of a job before you can blink twice!” 

Harry forced himself out of his internal panic-fit to see Draco flick his fingers dismissively. Ron was getting that look in his eye, the one that meant he was about to pounce and the consequences be damned.

Harry sat up and poked Draco in the arm. “Malfoy, leave Ron alone. This is not the time to be trading insults.”

“On the contrary, I think this is the perfect time to be trading insults.” Draco drawled.

“I think you’re all being utterly childish.” Hermione said with a bit of force, “Blaming each other--and me--isn’t going to help anyone.”

“You’re the one who found the book and pointed out that spell!” Ron protested Hermione’s attempt to ‘escape’ blame.

“So? I wanted to take to the Professors, you were the one who actually wanted to use it.”

“Just like a girl to avoid taking the blame.”

“I’m going to tell your sister you said that.”

Ron paled. “You wouldn’t!”

“Watch me.”

Harry sighed and fell back on the bed, rather irked that his entire life had taken a drastic right turn and all his two best friends could do was argue like five-year-olds. Beside him, Draco moved until their hips were pressed together. He pulled up his right leg, rested his elbow on his knee, and watched the bickering duo with raised eyebrows.

“Have I complimented you on your choice of friends recently, Potter?” Draco wondered.

“No, and I’d thank you not to start.” Pressure was building at the base of his skull. Another headache. He closed his eyes tight, but that only made him more aware of Draco’s closeness. The other boy’s warmth was soaking into his side and his left arm had come to rest on Harry’s chest. Harry focused his eyes downward, his vision blurred were it reached under the rim of his glasses, and glared resentfully at Draco’s elbow.

[He’s going to be touching me for the next year...we’ll probably have to share a bed...I’ll have to put up with his friends...his family...and what about Sirius and--and--] Oh my, what nice dizzy feeling. If only his stomach weren’t so queasy.

Draco shifted and turned his head to look down at Harry. His face twisted unpleasantly. Looked like the news just sunk in for him, too. 

“Just you watch Potter,” he hissed, “I’m going to find a way to break this thing and then I’ll really make you regret it.” Their eyes meet, cold steel clashing with bright jade, fierce and challenging.

Threat was clear, so was helpless panic and biting rage, in eyes that were less like ice than they were distant storm clouds. Storm clouds promising soul saving rain or heart crushing torrents in a single gust of wind. 

Harry forced his eyes away and the world snapped back into alignment. An uneasy frown pulled down Draco’s mouth before he jerked his head away. Harry breathed in deeply and stared fixedly at the ceiling. He could hear Ron and Hermione still arguing the same subject, so his space out hadn’t been that long.

“-- and if you’d only stopped to think --”

“That’s enough.” Madam Pomfrey stopped Hermione mid sentence. “I think it would be best if you two left for the time being. They need a chance to get used to things. You can visit tomorrow.”

“But we can’t just leave him here with Malfoy!” Ron blurted unthinkingly, “Um...I mean--I...” He backtracked, casting his best friend an uncertain look. Harry wasn’t paying attention anymore; he’d decided that he was better off just lying there and not making contributions to the conversation.

“That is hardly your concern,” Pomfrey said dryly. “Now, off with you both.”

“All right,” Ron sighed.

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione said, “Bye, Harry.”

“Yeah, bye. But don’t worry! We’ll be back first thing tomorrow!”

“After classes.”

“Uh...right. After class,” Ron amended. Harry forced himself up enough to nod goodbye, ignoring Draco’s arm slipping down his chest.

“I’ll see you later.” He watched his friends leave a bit mournfully. Now it would be just him and Draco. Ugh. The door closed behind Hermione with a dismal click. Draco shifted slightly.

“Hey, don’t I get to see my friends today?” he demanded petulantly.

Madam Pomfrey frowned.

“I’d rather not. I think it would be best if the two of you got better...acquainted with your new situation.” She gathered up the dishes from their lunch with quick, practical movements.

“But what--“

“Ron and Hermione were directly involved in the incident,” she said, “I wanted them present. Your friends, Mr. Malfoy, were not needed. You can see them tomorrow.”

Draco frowned, obviously annoyed that Harry’s friends were rated higher than his, “What about my father?” He bounced the foot that was hooked under Harry’s ankle.

“Yes?” Madam Pomfrey needlessly rearranged the stacking order of the dishes.

“Well, aren’t you going to inform him of this?” Draco pressed, the tone of his voice becoming sharp. Harry sat up further.

“That is for Headmaster Dumbledore to do,” she stated firmly, “Now, I’ll bring you something fresh to change into, but you’re not to leave the hospital wing today.”

“I want to know directly when my father has been informed of this...incident.”

“Oh, come off it.” Harry snorted in response to Draco’s tone. The blond boy favored him with a disapproving glare and drummed his fingers on Harry’s chest.

“At least I have someone who cares about what happens to me.”

“Frankly, I think I prefer the muggles to your dad and that is saying a lot.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared unbecomingly. “You’d compare my father to--“

“Before I forget,” Madam Pomfrey interjected calmly, “When you cast the spell Harry, what color was it?”

“Color? Oh, um...gray or silver I think.” Harry returned Draco’s glare force for force. He wanted to stick out his tongue, but there was that whole maturity issue.

“Silver? Are you sure it wasn’t green?”

“No, it wasn’t green.” 

[He is such an ass,] Harry thought, [even after all these years, every time he opens his big mouth, I start looking for something to throw. I should be used to it by now, but no, it just keeps getting worse...Oh look, his eye is twitching. He must really be annoyed.]

“Maybe black with white swirls?”

“What? No.” Harry blinked, his interest in the conversation recaptured.

“It was silver,” Draco verified, “I should know, it was coming right for me.”

“Hmm. Well, then. And when it came back at Harry it was--yellow?” Madam Pomfrey offered hopefully.

“No, red.”

“Red?”

“Red.”

“Not pink or maybe mauve?”

“It was RED!” both boys shouted in mutual frustration. 

“Hmm. Really. That, well.” Her gaze flicked rapidly between them. “I wouldn’t have...hmm. I’ll go get your robes.” Looking bemused, she gathered the dishes and headed out the door.

“Hey, wait! What in Hogwarts was that all about?!” Harry demanded of her departing back. He leapt to his feet...or at least made the attempt to, as such a movement would have disrupted Draco’s contact with his foot and the other strongly disapproved of such a venture. When Harry leapt--or started to--Draco grabbed his lower arm below the sleeve and pulled. Harry responded by jerking back in the opposite direction, mainly out of surprise, and resulted in a messy and somewhat indecent sprawl on the floor.

Harry yelped as his head lightly struck the ground. Draco’s shoulder pressed uncomfortably against his nose, his glasses partially shoved off his face with one earpiece jabbed into his cheek. He could feel the other boy’s slender, but surprisingly heavy, body through the thin pajamas. A bony hip was jammed into his stomach and skinny legs twisted around his own. The pale line of Draco’s throat was mostly blurred but otherwise discernable.

[I wonder what he would do if I licked him...] It took a heartbeat or two, but the rest of his brain finally caught up with that thought and roughly demanded to know what he had been doing while it was away. He let out an entirely undignified noise and franticly tried to get Draco off him.

[What is WRONG with my head?!? I can’t believe--its impossible--I’m going crazy, it’s that simple. Voldemort doesn’t need to work hard to kill me, I’ll just go stark raving bonkers on my own and he can pick me off whenever.]

“Malfoy, get off!”

“Don’t yell at me, you’re the one who started it.” Draco pushed himself up and scooted back, but didn’t pull away completely. He shook his head, sliver-blond hair tickling the end of Harry’s nose. “Are you okay?” Another head shake, “Bleh, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“I’m fine! Get off!” Harry pushed at Draco’s slim shoulders, feeling warmth radiating into his palms. [He looks cold, but he’s so warm, like a furnace.]

“I will, I will.” The smaller boy shifted his weight to his knees, hands braced on either side of Harry’s head. “Well,” he smirked, longish hair draping around his face, “Its this interesting.”

If Harry wasn’t blushing before...

“Arrgh!” Griping Draco’s shoulders, Harry pushed hard, up and over, rolling his whole body until Draco was under him. He sat up and scooted back, moving as far away as possible and still leaving their bare feet in contact. “You are an evil, wicked person.” He announced, setting his glasses back into their proper position.

Draco widened his eyes innocently. “Am I now?”

“No, that’s giving you too much credit.” Harry leaned back until his head rested against the edge of the bed, wincing when it touched the sore spot. “Malfoy?”

“Hmm?”

“Accepting that I hate you and you hate me, is there any chance we could just not talk for the next few hours?”

“And do what instead?” Draco suddenly sounded as tired as he felt.

“Ignore each other.”

Draco gave him a sardonic grin. “Right. Ignore each other.”

“Just make the effort.” Harry closed his eyes tightly, watching the swirling light and shadow patterns behind his eyes with fascination. Across from him Draco sighed deeply. He cracked an eye to see the other teen fall back onto the floor, arms spread in offering to the ceiling.

They stayed that way in silence, which was just fine.

_____________________________________________

Harry and Draco were still sprawled in their respective positions when Madam Pomfrey came back with some fresh robes. They continued to ‘ignore’ each other through an utterly embarrassing and awkward dressing session. Basically, Harry familiarized himself with the pattern on the wall while he squirmed out of and into his clothing; Draco rested a hand on his shoulder and hummed stripper music. He was refreshingly silent when it came his turn to change.

The ignoring continued as they were given homework to occupy their time. Harry was glad, both for the distraction work provided and the silence Draco was currently providing, even if it wasn’t perfect silence. Ignorance was certainly bliss, but it was hard to ignore someone leaning against you and breathing in your ear. Well, maybe not in his ear, but close enough to be a bother.

[I wonder what he would say if I told him to stop breathing.] Harry’s mouth quirked slightly. [Something insulting I’d wager.] Harry was lying on his stomach on the bed. Draco sprawled beside him, also on his stomach, and taking up more space then should be legal under the laws of science. Or magic for that matter. Harry concentrated on his book and not falling of the bed.

They had woken up in the early afternoon and the day was now fading into evening. Madam Pomfrey had checked on them twice and he could hear other students being treated in the main room for the hospital wing, but no one else came around. Harry wondered why Dumbledore hadn’t shown up. He would have least expected Professor McGonagall to make an appearance, to scold him if nothing more. And Snape--well, he was still surprised the Professor hadn’t swooped in like an eagle for the kill, set on retribution for messing with his favorite student. Harry was almost curious about what Draco thought of his protectors continued absence, but not curious enough to actually ask.

It was strange, just the two of them in the otherwise empty ward. In a way, it was lonely, but at the same time it was hard to be lonely with someone crowded up next to you. Draco’s elbow dug into his side for a moment, moved when he lifted his arm to turn a page, and returned, but with less force. It was still irrationally annoying. [The book. Just read the book.]

[...After the twelfth time Nicholas Marduk found Alanna Tiamat listening in on certain private affairs, it became apparent that even though Animagi were rare, there still had to be someway to keep track of them...]

“Your lips move when you read, did you know that?” The usually drawling, bored tone was gone, leaving Draco sounding almost pleasant. Perish the thought.

Harry glanced at him briefly from the corner of his eye, and then focused on the book with renewed vigor. [...At first, a very long and ridiculously complicated form was designed to be filled out by any wizard who’d preformed the Animagus spell. It coved fifty pages and questioned everything from the wizard’s mother’s maiden name to which brand of toothpaste they used...]

“You’re doing it again.”

Harry pressed his lips tightly together and plowed onward. [...After much debate, the form was thrown out and...]

“What are you reading anyways?” Draco leaned closer, forehead brushing his and nearly unsetting his glasses. Harry jerked back.

“Malfoy! Knock it off.” He frowned, tilting his head away from Draco. “I thought we were ignoring each other.”

“Hmm...I’m bored.” Draco lifted the cover of the book and partially closed it to read the title, “’Wizard to Animal: A History on Animagus’. Huh, dull read.”

“You’re bored? So do homework! Entertain yourself.” Harry reached down and, with a feeling of great relief, removed Draco’s elbow from his side. Draco kicked the bed, nearly catching Harry’s legs, but tucked his arm closer to his body.

“That was one talent I never did pick up. Entertaining myself, that is. I always had playmates as a child. And many friends when I grew up,” He turned onto his side, still facing Harry, one slim hand resting on Harry’s bare elbow. “I suspect you’d have gotten really good at it, though. Playing all by yourself in that Muggle house. Or did you have friends?”

“I’m not going to tell you.” Harry stated, managing to keep his face blank. Why Draco’s words bothered him was beyond him, but for some reason, he couldn’t keep back the memories of sitting quietly in the closet, listening to Dudley and his friends playing outside. Or of hiding away in a corner of the play yard, hoping he would be ignored and hurting because he was ignored.

“My father always made sure there was someone around to amuse me.” Draco continued, fingers flexing on Harry’s arm.

“And I’m sure he’d toss some orders around if no one was forthcoming.” Harry turned a page in his book, not really seeing the letters. Maybe Malfoy had some condition that prevented him from being silent for very long.

“That was never a problem.” The tone of his voice indicated that subject line was dead. Harry reminded himself to bring it up again later. “One of my friends was this little witch named Hoshi, if I remember right. Tiny black-haired girl, looked like a doll.” He paused. “Wonder what happened to her.”

“Hmm. Interesting. Are you finished?” Harry closed his book, couldn’t figure out why he had, and reopened it.

“I’m still bored.”

“So be bored.”

“You’re a rotten companion.” Draco noted, still disturbingly pleasant.

“Since when was I your companion?” Harry gritted his teeth. [This must be some new form of torture on his part. ‘Killing with kindness’, that must be it. Not that I would call this kind...]

“What else am I supposed to call you?” Draco asked reasonably.

“Potter. Or Harry. That should do.” Determined to end this conversation, Harry turned onto his side, back facing Draco, propped his head on his hand and once again tried to read the (admittedly dull) book. Draco’s touch followed his movement, brushing up his arm and under the sleeve of his robe, fingers trailing along the soft flesh of his inner arm. He shivered and hoped desperately that Draco wouldn’t notice.

“I meant,” Draco continued with gentle emphasis, “When we’re in public and people ask about you, what should I tell them? I couldn’t possibly call you a friend. To bad I can’t call you my servant boy...”

Harry cast a nasty look over his shoulder. “Say that and I have every right to tell people that you were a monkey I transformed into a human by accident and now I can’t get ride of you.”

“A monkey?”

“Yes. And a real nasty one, too. Pissed all over my room and hit on my Aunt Petunia.” Draco had a ‘You’re kidding, right?’ look on his face. “Anyway, what do you mean by public? I reckon all the school knows about this by now, won’t matter one way or the other what you tell them.”

“We aren’t going to spend the entire year cooped up in Hogwarts, are we? I, for one, plan on going home for the holidays and spending a weekend or three in Hogsmead.” Those damned fingers rubbed his skin lightly, as if trying to draw another shiver out of him.

[Malfoy, you would have to haul me kicking, screaming, and biting to your parents house--for the holidays or otherwise.] “I doubt we’ll be doing either of those until Headmaster finds a way to explain it.”

[Good thing Rita Skeeter isn’t writing about me anymore. I can just see the headlines she’d come up with for this. “Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy: Secret Lovers” or some such nastiness. Ugh.] He shuddered. [Thank God. Thank you Hermione for dealing with her. It’s almost enough to make me forgive you for landing me with Draco...]

“What I want to know is why I haven’t heard about my father yet.”

[Almost.]

“Despite any ideas to the contrary, the world does not revolve around the two of us,” Harry reminded him, “Life still goes on. I’m certain they’re busy with other stuff right now.” [Or are finding ways not to tell your father. I’m such an idiot for agreeing to do this.] And that irked him the most. No one had forced him into this, he hadn’t been tied up, or blackmailed, or even nagged particularly hard. He’d just agreed to it. [There’s a lesson in all of this. I just know it.]

“Hmm...” Even without words, Draco managed to sound both doubting and scornful. “Sure Potter, sure.”

“Oh, bugger off.” Harry snapped, his patience wearing thin.

“Love to, but can’t.” The bed jumped as Draco suddenly tumbled onto his other side so he was pressed back-to-back with Harry, bare ankles touching. “Now I’m hungry.”

“Demanding snot, aren’t you? And do you have to lie so close?” Harry frowned; desperately wanting to squirm away and knowing doing so would land him on the floor.

“Why?” He could almost hear Draco’s grin, “Embarrassed?”

“No.”

“Liar.” Draco snickered. He fell silent, making no effort to move. Harry chewed on his tongue and focused on not blushing.

[Damn him, damn him.] Harry looked down at his book, having nearly forgotten it in the bickering. [Deal with it; I have to deal with it. I’m going to be with him for a very long time.] Against him, Draco sighed deeply.

“I am hungry.”

“That’s nice.”

______________________

Ron collapsed into one of the chairs in the Gryffindor common room with an explosive breath. “Well...damn.” He announced, apparently lacking any other descriptive terms for the current situation.

Hermione sat opposite and seemed to agree with him, simply because she didn’t argue his statement. Ron watched her uncertainly, waiting for a scathing comment, and was actually at bit of a loss when none was forthcoming. The common room was mostly empty, only a few other Gryffindors were there and they ignored the quiet pair.

“We...we couldn’t have known.” Ron ventured. Hermione finger-combed her wild mane and cast a look at the ceiling.

“No. And maybe that’s why we shouldn’t have done it.” She stretched out her arms and then let them fall in her lap. Ron waited. As if sensing this, she glanced at him. “I’m not going to nag you, if that’s what you’re wondering. Much as I’d like to,” deep sigh, “It won’t do anyone any good. Harry needs our support, not our bickering.”

Ron blinked, then grinned. “Well, nice to see you agree.”

Hermione scowled. Ron beamed. After a short staring contest, she threw her hands up in defeat, stood from her chair, and stomped off muttering uncomplimentary things about Ron’s ancestry.

Ron watched her go with a fair amount of amusement. After she vanished up the stairs to the dorms, Ron rested his head against the back of the armchair and stared into the fire. The amusement faded from his features.

“Sorry, Harry.” He said softly, watching the dancing forms of the flame as the wood beneath turned to ash and sparks floated up the chimney.

______________________

Harry woke that morning to the feeling of being smothered and crushed. For an awful moment, he fought against the restraint; until that restraint cursed at him and squashed him a little firmer. Harry stopped struggling and let his foggy thoughts clear. He realized that there was cloth over his mouth and something heavy and warm inside the cloth. The weight pressing him down was definitely body shaped.

[Oh, right, Malfoy.] He reached up and removed Draco’s arm from across his face. After a long minute of blinking in the dim pre-morning light, Harry took stock of the situation.

It appeared that even though, the night before, they had gone through all the trouble of pushing two beds together and merging the mattresses so the two boys would have enough room, Draco had somehow ended up sprawled on top of him. The other boy was on his back, head resting on Harry’s upper right bicep, left arm curled above his head--and over Harry’s face. The blankets had been pushed down and tangled around both their legs, leaving Harry hot and sweaty where Draco crushed him, and cold where he didn’t.

“Wonderful, you’re a bed hog.” His shoulder hurt from Draco’s weight. The blond mumbled something and squirmed, trying to get more comfortable on his ‘pillow’. Harry squeak in protest and sheer mortification. Coiling his fingers around Draco’s hand, he used his legs and free hand to slid the other off of him. 

Draco moved without protest, curling onto his side the instant he was on the mattress and tucking the hand Harry held under his cheek. Harry breathed harshly, cheeks flaming, and heart pounding. He stared down at Draco, seeing only a pale blur with dark marking for features and a yellowish blur for hair.

[Crap.] He thought incoherently. [Crap.] Draco’s breaths ghosted out over his hand. Harry closed his eyes and settled back down on the bed, using his free hand to untangle the blankets and pull them over his body. Still fuzzy and leaden with sleep, Harry focused on his breathing until dreams claimed him again.

______________________

There are few things in life that bother you to the point of being willing to chew off your own arm or jump out of a fourth floor window just so you can escape to freedom. Being forced to sit quietly while his archrival talked about him with his less-than-savory friends was one of those things. Though, to be fair, they weren’t talking about him directly--but they did discuss his friends, his House, the teachers, and just about anyone else who liked him or whom he liked. It was like listening to someone rake fingernails down a chalkboard, while singing ‘The Song that Never Ends’ off key.

“---They say that the counter spell won’t work, but I’m not entirely sure I believe it. Well, they’ll just see when my father gets here, he’ll make sure things are set right---“

Harry was beginning to strongly hate the term ‘my father’. At least they’d shifted subjects.

“---I wouldn’t be surprised if the counter spell does work and they’re just prolonging this to make me suffer. They’re all on Potter’s side anyway---“

Never mind. Harry resisted the urge to pinch Draco. Any and all pleasantness that had existed between them last night and this morning was officially gone.

They sat pressed back-to-back, though Harry was hunched forward since he was bearing all of Draco’s weight. The other teen was quite comfortable on his new chair, thank you very much, and showed no inclination to move or spare Harry any more back pain. They’d found that didn’t need skin-to-skin contact when they were this close, but that didn’t mean Harry could stop himself from occasionally reaching back to rub his fingers or knuckles over Draco’s bare neck. The only consolation was that Draco kept on touching him too, and in front of Crabbe and Goyle to boot.

“---Of course, he gets to suffer with me. Apparently Granger was the one to find the spell...”

“And Potter was the one stupid enough to use it.” Crabbe spoke up diversely, seemingly pleased at the idea of talking about Harry as if he wasn’t there. Harry made a face at his parchment and was surprised to feel Draco tense up slightly.

“Well, that’s hard to say.” Draco edged, his voice dropping a few degrees. “Certainly, though, Weasley was the one to goad him into it. I doubt he’d do anything without his cronies support---“

[God, I hate you.] Harry thought viscously. As if responding to the thought, Draco’s fingers brushed over the back of his neck, trailing down to his shoulder. The hand left. Harry applied some strength to push Draco forward, but let himself sag back when Draco continued to play dead weight.

“---I must admit, I am amazed that Granger didn’t tattle on them. From the impression I got, she’s pretty particular about following the rules.”

Harry thought back to when Hermione helped him and Ron disguise themselves as Crabbe and Goyle. He smiled, [Shows what you know.]

“So, Potter, did you bribe her into being quiet about it?”

It took Harry, still smiling over old memories, a few seconds to realize Draco was talking to him. “What?” He tried to straighten up again without much success.

“Did you bribe Hermione Granger into being quiet about your little spell casting?” Draco clearly stated each word, his tone patronizing, and applied more of his weight. Harry twisted his head around as best he could and gave Draco a ‘oh, come off it’ frown.

Before he could comment, Goyle let out a deep snort. “What did ya do, Potter? Kiss her?” Draco let out a sound amazingly like a hiss and sat up straight, but Goyle wasn’t finished. “Bet it was the only action she’s had in a long time!”

“Now look you---“ Harry started sharply, twisting his body around to look Goyle full in the face. He didn’t get very far into the realm of insults when Professor McGonagall strode into the ward.

Her very presence put an abrupt stop to any conversation has she gazed down at the gathered teens with an expression that would have done her warrior goddess namesake proud. Crabbe and Goyle had the grace to look slightly guilty, Draco just raised his chin higher, and Harry blinked at her.

“I believe lunch is over now. Vincent, Gregory, you have classes.”

“Yes, Professor.” The two said in sulky unison. Biding Draco farewell and shooting nasty scowls at Harry, they headed out the door past McGonagall. The Professor herself stood immobile as she regarded the unfortunate pair on the bed.

Without thinking about it, Harry shifted himself closer to and around Draco, putting himself more into McGonagall’s line of sight. She liked him better than Draco, anyway, so anything she did or said to him would be less severe, and that made him feel better. Draco allowed the rearrangement, but continued to watch the Professor with something like suspicion.

For her account, Minerva McGonagall closed her eyes, hoped she would have the patience to handle this, and allowed herself a few minutes to doubt her choice in becoming a teacher at Hogwarts. She didn’t think about it very often, no more than once a decade or so. The last time had been when a Hufflepuff had turned the hair of every person in the entire school lime green. It took literally weeks to get rid of and the poor kid was nearly lynched by his schoolmates in the meantime.

“Well, it's good to see you up and about, so to speak. You’re not suffering too greatly from your predicament,” she purposefully ignored Draco’s disbelieving snort, “For which I am relieved. However, certain adjustments will have to be made for your...unique position.”

When the two nodded in understanding, Minerva walked further into the room and came to rest in one of the high-backed armchairs meant for those visiting patients. “Headmaster Dumbledore and few others are working the arrangements of your new living quarters---“

“Wait, wait,” Harry interrupted, pulling his legs under him and moving so he was more in front of Draco and not half sprawled across his lap. “New rooms?”

“Certainly, you didn’t expect to bring Draco into the Gryffindor dorms, did you?” She questioned with perfect logic, the kind that makes you feel stupid for not thinking of it yourself. Harry blushed slightly. “And I’d imagine your fellow housemates would take exception to a Gryffindor in their common room, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco’s mouth snapped closed on whatever statement was forthcoming.

“We’re still debating the subject of whether or not you get your own bathroom and shower, but otherwise, your rooms should be ready in a few more days. It will have its own password that you can change as you see fit, though I would suggest not sharing it with any of your friends. For the sake of,” something that threatened to become a smile twitched her mouth, “Domestic tranquility if nothing else. We don’t expect you to start classes until you’ve---gotten used to each other. That is, in a week or so. Before that, Professor Snape and I will have to discuss the arrangement of your classes with you.”

[That’s right, expect for Care of Magical Creatures and Potions, we have our classes at different times,] Harry thought, shifting so Draco’s knee wasn’t pressed so firmly into his back.

“I hope you will be able to arrange seating during mealtimes between yourselves,” she raised her eyebrows at them, “Without too much fighting, I dare to hope.”

Draco managed a bright, innocent smile and Harry gave her a slightly more sarcastic version of the same. Her expression remained unchanged.

“Either way, don’t expect any of the staff to get involved and I would just as soon you not get any of the other students involved. Though with your friends, that’s going to be somewhat more difficult.” Draco made a vaguely agreeing sound. Harry concurred with the idea, but remained silent.

It felt strange to be talking about him and Draco together this way. It all sounded so very--permanent. The ‘outside’ world of Hogwarts that had seemed so distant up till that point was returning full force. More than that, it was being adjusted to suit their new needs. Well, no, maybe that was taking it too far. The new rooms were just because of the bad blood between Slytherins and Gryffindors. If Draco were a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, it might have been different.

“Well, doesn’t matter. I am not sitting with Gryffindors or Weasleys.” Draco intoned firmly.

“I’m not sitting with Slytherins.” Harry snapped in reply.

“Then I guess you’ll both have to sit on the floor with your dinners.” McGonagall informed them reasonably. Harry stared at her in amazement as something like amusement danced in her eyes. “Well, that’s all I---no, wait. I almost forgot.” She reached into her sleeve and pulled free her wand. “Pensum domesticum!” She announced with a practiced flick of her wrist.

A large pile of books and rolled parchment appeared out of thin air and landed on the foot of the bed with a force that caused Harry and Draco to bounce. A few loose scrolls rolled aimlessly onto the floor.

“That’s your class work for all of today and tomorrow and your homework assignments. You’ll have to talk to your classmates about notes, but most of the Professors provided all the information you’ll need.”

“Look at all this Potions work!” Draco exclaimed as he shifted through the mass.

“The majority of that is Mr. Potter’s.”

Draco looked as though his day had greatly improved. “Ah, good.” Harry wrinkled his nose and moved a heavy volume off the edge of his robe. Didn’t that just figure?

Minerva stood with a deep breath and shook out her clothes. “That’s all I have for today. I strongly hope you two will come to---“ She stopped and seemed to re-think her words. “Will learn to tolerate each other, if nothing else.”

The way she added on the last statement prickled Harry’s ‘other people know something you don’t’ radar. But Draco’s chortled “This is going take you hours”, distracted him from following up on the feeling.

______________________

Draco had never believed in the saying “tension thick enough to cut”, but he now understand what it meant.

He and Harry had started in on the pile of work shortly after McGonagall left, and he’d been positively thrilled at the sheer amount of homework Snape had given Harry. The kind Professor Snape had also given Draco himself a more limited amount, even less than he might normally give. It certainly made up for his favorite teacher’s continued absence. None of the other teachers had been as considerate in regard to Draco’s workload, but he didn’t really expect them to be.

They ended up playing a bizarre sort of musical chairs in the search for a comfortable position to study and write in. The best was squashed together in the massive armchair with the tray from lunch braced on the arms for a makeshift table. However, it was a little too intimate for his increasingly traitorous hormones to tolerate (damn them), so they’d ended up with two of the smaller chairs pulled really close together.

Now regular classes were over and their friends had come to visit them.

That’s where the tension comes in.

Weasley and Granger had shown a few minutes before Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy had. Draco was at first pleased with the back up, and the chance to harrow Potter’s friends when they weren’t likely to get away, but he was beginning to strongly wish they would all go away.

Granger was making an obvious point to be pleasant, but Ron wasn’t even trying. He sat there eyeing the two larger teens and just waiting for them to make a move. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles, looked threatening, and were generally bad conversationalists.

And Pansy---

“Oh, Draco, this just absolutely awful! I don’t understand why the teachers aren’t handling this properly and I’m just going to have to tell my mother and Great-Uncle Taliesin they are both in the Ministry and I’m certain they’ll be able to do something---“

“Thank you, Pansy love, that would be splendid.” He broke into her stream of words with the standard flirting manner he’d adopted for all rich Slytherin girls, on the off chance he may have to marry one when he got older.

She beamed at him blissfully and continued on without missing a beat. “---In that case I’ll send them an owl before I go to bed tonight. You’ll be out of this whole mess in no time, but until then I’ll come and visit you everyday so you don’t have just him for company---“

Aware that was being talked about, Harry leaned further into Draco’s side and cast a glance at where Pansy sat on a stool next to Draco’s chair. He snorted softly and turned his attention back to where Hermione was explaining his Charm’s homework. Draco decided it prudent to ignore him.

Strange, he hadn’t noticed before how annoying Pansy was when she got into one of her rambles. She wasn’t his favorite person, or even one of his closer friends, and he didn’t always enjoy her company. She was, however, very flattering that was always nice when he needed a good ego boost. She’s also better at intelligent conversation than his two tag-alongs are.

“---But you’re strong and I know it won’t---“

He smiled and nodded to show he was interested, but otherwise let his attention wander. It didn’t wander very far. Harry’s weight felt rather nice against his side and he could occasionally hear the other boy’s voice through Pansy’s brattle. Draco wasn’t quite sure what twist of fate or stupidity (actually, he had some good guesses on the latter) had landed him bond to Harry Potter, but it was turning out to be interesting.

In his more honest moments, Draco admitted that he had always held some fascination for Harry. The boy had interested him from when they first met at the clothes shop. He’d looked like some lost orphan, in his badly fitted Muggle clothes and hair that had never seen a proper brushing. Draco should have known he wasn’t worth much when he’d gone with Hagrid. But when Draco learned that the rag-tag boy was really the famous Harry Potter...

Well, he wasn’t stupid. You don’t just go and make enemies with someone whose got half the wizarding world on his side, not to mention is the only survivor of an attack from You-Know-Who. It’s bad politics at the very least (He’s father had never seemed to understand that. Of course, where Luicus Malfoy had ideals to uphold, Draco had a survival plan). Still, when Harry went and choose Ron Weasley over him...that had been unforgivable insult. It had hurt too. No one ever turned down his friendship or at least the offer to be his ally. And to be turned down in favor of a poor nobody who wasn’t worthy enough to shine his shoes had been the worse.

So, he planned to make Potter pay for this slight. For some reason though, it never turned out the way he planned. Potter got him as many times as he got Potter and he just couldn’t give up on it, he couldn’t let Potter win and the look on his face whenever Draco bested him was always worth it. Then Harry had started featuring in his wet dreams sometime during Fifth year.

That had been just awful. And it had kept on happening. It really wasn’t something he thought about ---ever---, just ignored and hoped that maybe if he kept on ignoring it, dream-Harry would eventually become dream-someone else. Expect that now, lucky him, he actually had the real Harry in his bed. And currently playing a limpet.

His wandering thoughts returned to their normal location and informed him that something had happened while he was off in La la land. Pansy had gotten to her feet, hands braced on her hips and currently sporting her best ‘I am not amused’ expression. “You shouldn’t cling to Draco like that!”

“I’m not clinging to him!” Harry snapped defensively, clinging to Draco. Draco raised a pale eyebrow. [Oh, yeah?]

“I don’t see why you have to sit so close! I don’t think Draco likes it!” She returned haughtily.

“I know he doesn’t, but that’s beside the point.” Harry informed, hitching a little closer as the Slytherin girl put, what she probably thought was, a comforting hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“It’s not really your place to get involved.” Hermione spoke up, book half closed in her lap, a disapproving frown on her face. Pansy’s head snapped in her direction.

“Oh? And who you are you to say anything Muh...”

The pending insult was averted when Ron let out a yell that could have been “Stupid ass” or “Stud bass”, it was hard to tell he was that angry, and threw himself at Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy’s sentence ended in a squeal. Hermione, the only remotely smart Gryffindor in existence, leapt to her feet and backpedaled a safe distance from the fight.

Harry, of course, tried jump into the battle. Draco stopped with an arm about the middle and dragged him back. “Hey, knock it off!” Harry protested, still indent on rescuing his friend.

“Look, you get into that and then I’ll have to get into that. I don’t fancy getting involved.” [Nor seeing you beat up, for that matter.] Harry twisted around and glanced at Draco with one grass green eye, as if trying to judge what he meant by that. He didn’t comment though, just turned his attention back to the fight.

Draco just held onto him and waited for Madam Pomfrey to show up and settle the mess. Why did these things always happen to him, anyway?

______________________

It was a modest enough room. A table currently covered in books, two oversized armchairs, a small fireplace, and a double bed pushed against the back wall and draped with dark curtains. There was a single window in the wall along side the bed and a few rugs covered the stone floor. Their chests already been brought in and sat side-by-side at the foot of the bed. Hedwig’s cage perched on Harry’s chest and a similar yet larger cage sat on Draco’s. The room as a whole was smaller than Harry’s dorm room and slightly shabby as if many of the items had been dragged out of storage. But it was clean and actually rather cheerful in a way.

“I suppose it could be worse.” Draco noted with a touch of melodrama. He was sore at having walked the halls of Hogwarts hand-in-hand with Harry Potter. Professor McGonagall had been nice enough to wait until classes were in session to escort them to their new rooms, but even Harry had been shaken at the idea of encountering a fellow classmate on an errand.

Thankfully, no such instances had occurred and they were now safely placed in their new rooms. Harry tugged on Draco’s hand, half dragging him to a door he just noticed. “What’s this to?”

“The bathroom.” McGonagall answered, looking around the room with a certain amount of satisfaction. “These quarters belonged to a teacher at some point. We actually found the bathroom facilities hidden behind an old liquor cabinet.”

Still pulling Draco after him like an uncooperative two-year-old, Harry checked out the bathroom, finding sink, mirror, large shower stall, and the other necessities. Draco reversed force and hauled him over to their chests. “I hope nothing got left behind.” He muttered darkly, moving the cage out of the way so he could dig through his belongings. Harry obligingly moved his hand to the back of Draco’s neck. Draco used the freed hand to pull out his wand and tap in on the snap for the chest.

“I have a class to teach, so I’ll leave you two to get settled. The current password is ‘complication’, the spell to change the password is signum milit, after which say your full name, the old password and then the new one. I think that should be it...” She trailed off and looked at them speculatively.

“I can’t think of anything else.” Harry shrugged. Draco raised a hand from a scarlet bond book to wave over his shoulder. Professor McGonagall hesitated and then nodded.

“Very well. Be sure to get your all schoolwork done, there’ll be no excuses for not doing it. I’ll see you tomorrow to discuss the arrangement of your classes.” With another nod she left through the portrait hole.

“Good, it’s all here.” Draco sighed, flipping through a small journal.

“What, did you think someone was going to take your stuff?” Harry peeked curiously over Draco’s shoulder, catching a vaguely sketched image on the bright white pages before the book was snapped shut.

“Anything is possible. Besides, Slytherin’s are less than entirely trustworthy. Father taught me a locking spell before I even started here.” He tucked the journal under a fold of clothing and pulled out a palm sized picture frame. The image inside showed a garden bench surrounded by roses. “This is supposed to be a picture of my mother. When she’s not fixing her makeup.” He tossed the picture back in and closed the chest firmly. Which a quick tap of his wand and a muttered word, the locking spell was fixed back into place.

“I’m not going to take anything.” Harry protested. Draco gave him a charming grin over one shoulder. A strange feeling fluttered through Harry’s stomach.

“Yeah, so?”

“Is there anyone you trust?” Harry wondered, mildly mocking.

“Oh, there are one or two people. Not you, by any stretch.” Draco snorted, standing up with toss of corn silk hair. He arranged the owl cage next to his chest, lacking a better place to put it.

“I’m flattered.” Harry sighed deeply, absently rubbing the warm flesh under his fingers. Muscles shifted beneath his touch and he moved his fingers with them, digging deeper at the tender areas. A soft sound caught his attention and he finally focused on what he was doing. Draco’s head was bowed, neck exposed to Harry’s probing fingers, shoulders rolling with pleasure.

Feeling oddly disconnected from his body, Harry moved a step closer and brought up his other hand. Slowly, he pressed the pads of his fingers against the curve of Draco’s neck, moving his still working hand down to Draco’s shoulders. Letting his instincts guide him, he gently massaged the soft skin. The contact was making his chest feel tight, a strange warmth spreading through his stomach. Draco responded to his caresses like a cat, arching and purring. Harry licked at his lower lip, thumbs following the smooth line of Draco’s muscles to his spine.

The air felt charged and heated, like a storm waiting to break. Gravity was pulling them closer together; a whirlpool of want drawing them to its center. Draco’s head lifted as Harry’s hands caressed a path up the base of his neck, traitorous fingers cupping forward to brush the softness beneath his ears and the curve of his jaw. Silken hair tickled the backs of Harry’s hands and he swayed forward to breath in its scent. Pine and apple spice, sweet and tempting, like Christmas. But it was Christmas back home, when seeking a candy treat was dangerous, no matter the temptation. And Draco was a snake in the grass that waits for weakness, ready to become a dragon that would shed his heart free with uncaring jaws.

Only Draco was shaking under his touch now, storm cloud eyes awash with confusion and fear as he looked over his shoulder, and Harry realized how close he was standing. His mind was a distance away, full of fear and protests but unable to stem the swell of longing that was being released inside of him. But something had to stop it, trap it back where it belonged, because he couldn’t, it was wrong and he couldn’t...

Rustle Clatter

The moment ended like a shattered glass, throwing them back a respectable distance from each other. Both of Harry’s hands dropped and Draco caught the left one with a Seeker’s speed, his head whipping in the direction of the noise. An eagle owl fluttered frantically against the glass window.

“Gwydyon!” Draco gasped, hauling a dazed Harry after him to throw open the window. The massive bird sailed past on impossibly quiet wings, coming to rest on the burgundy colored bedspread. Hedwig flew in directly behind, hooting her disapproval at the location change. She settled next to the eagle owl and they hissed at each other.

“They seem to hate each other.” Harry heard himself saying. As they watched, Hedwig ruffled her feathers threateningly and Gwydyon hunched over and mantled his wings.

“Awww, how sweet.” Draco said, his tone falling a little flat on the joke. Still, Harry smiled faintly, the tension from earlier dissipating. He silently thanked the owls for interrupting. Even though he was nervous about ever looking Draco in the face again. His fingertips tingled.

“I don’t know though, do owls really feel that way?”

“Ours apparently do.” Draco shrugged. “Maybe our feelings are passing over to them?” He offered doubtfully. Harry made a noncommittal grunt.

[But...do I really hate you? No, stop that!] He shook his head wildly, nearly unsetting his glasses as he tried to dispel the dreamy feeling that had settled over him. [Knock it off you’re being stupid. This is Malfoy, God’s sake.] But that’s the point, isn’t it? [Stop it!]

“Hey...now that Gwydyon’s here, I can send a letter to my father!” Draco realized with delight. “Perfect! Since the twits around here aren’t doing it, I’ll just take care of the matter myself.” Cheerfully, he dragged Harry to the table for quill and parchment.

“Wait, that’s for Dumbledore to decide! Can’t you just wait a little longer?”

“I’ve waited four days, that’s long enough.” Draco dug up his writing supplies one handed. Harry yanked at their conjoined hands in sheer annoyance.

“You don’t know how your father is going to react to this.”

“What are you getting at?” He smoothed out a roll with his elbow and tried to open the ink bottle. Harry wasn’t letting him use his other hand at all, pulling him back with it in an attempt to remove him from the table without any more physical contact than that. Draco was stronger than he looked and was being downright persistent about doing this.

“Think! He’s one of the many people who’d like to see me dead and now...”

“My father wouldn’t hurt me!”

“I’m not you, so what’s to stop him?”

“But if you’re hurt...no, he won’t! I won’t let him, so shut up!” 

The vehemence in his words startled and stopped Harry. Quietly amazed, Harry watched as Draco finished off his letter and called over his owl. The great bird landed with surprising gentleness on the edge of the table near their Charms books and held out one leg. Draco tried once to tie the letter on, then gave up and used a knotting spell.

Harry snapped back to his senses as Gwydyon lifted off for the window. He really didn’t want to see what would happen if Lucius Malfoy came to Hogwarts demanding to see his son and the Professors weren’t ready for it. Swiftly, he reached into his robe, searching his mind for a good untying spell. If he could zap the letter off after his owl went through the window, then shut the window and...

The action became moot because the instant Gwydyon passed the window frame, the letter burst into a cloud of purple smoke.

The poor bird was badly shaken by such an event and gave his owner a fearful hoot before vanishing beyond the rooftops, heading presumably for the owlery. The two teens watched his departure with wide eyes, standing as far from each other as they could in their current condition. From the bed, Hedwig made a pleased sound.

“Well,” Draco said finally, “That answers that. Lets check out our homework, shall we?”

______________________

Warm weight covered him, moving and pressing against him. Hands traveled unexplored paths over his arms and chest, sending white hot sparks through his system. They slid over his stomach and to his thighs, skidding teasingly over where the ache was the strongest. He protested the playing, his own hands catching on heated flesh. Laughter sounded near his ear, mocking and bright. Wet hot kisses trailed along his neck, making him arch and gasp. He smoothed his hands past thin cheeks, curling his fingers in hair soft and light as spider silk. Tenderly, the head in his hands turned and that soft mouth kissed and licked the inside of his arm. The laugh rang out again, low and warm, and those ever moving hands finally closed around his aching need. He called out in desire and relief, that lithe hot body fitting perfectly against his own, touch moving fast and hard. Moist heated air rushed past his ear, vaguely muttered words only half heard. He thrashed and clung, moving frantically and pleading and...

...woke up.

Harry blinked into the fuzzy darkness, totally disoriented, then groaned as he registered the body curled up against his back. Draco squirmed against him and his still racing pulse beat faster, his pajama bottoms painfully tight. He twisted his fist in the bed sheets, biting his lower lip in the hope that the pain would calm him down. It didn’t help much, not with Draco so warm and close to him.

[No, no! I don’t want to think about that right now.] Details of his dream lover teased at him, so very familiar. [I did not have wet dream about Draco, I refuse to even consider the idea.] Draco moved again, nuzzling his face into the curve where Harry’s neck met his shoulders, lips lightly brushing across his skin. Harry gasped involuntarily, a jolt of heat passing through his body. Draco hands rested on his flanks, palms pressed into the curve of his waist, fingers twitching in the fabric of his pajamas.

[Oh, he’s so close...No don’t think about it...I can feel his breath. I can’t get up and do anything; it’ll wake him up too. Please don’t move, just don’t move.] As usual, Draco wasn’t in the mood to listen. He scooted down a bit, face still tucked against Harry’s back, and his hand slid down off Harry’s side, passing over his twitching stomach to rest on the sheet.

The ghosting touch, so very near his desperate hardness, combined with moist breath and the faint touch of slightly moving lips, caused a flash of pleasure that made him jerk in reaction. And Draco suddenly jumped awake into a half-sitting position.

The shock effectively killed most of the arousal in his system.

Harry focused on breathing normally, trying his damnedest to make Draco think he was still asleep. Draco pushed himself up further, the hand near Harry’s stomach lifting away, thighs tucking up near his own. The other boy mumbled something. Then, soft fingers trailed over the arch of Harry’s forehead, sliding through his ruffled bangs, and tracing the outer shell of his ear.

[Is he doing it on purpose?!]

The touch left his face. Then, grumbled; “Bloody three ‘o clock in the morning.” Damp warmth came close to his ear, the awareness of someone leaning near his face. “Go back to sleep.”

[Oh, hell.]

Draco twisted onto his other side and almost instantly dropped back into sleep.

Harry stayed awake for much longer and fretted.

______________________

According to “Wizards and Witches Throughout Time”, only one wizard has ever successfully killed anyone with a look. Brunhilda Osguard had, since early childhood, a curse that caused the people she stared at too long to suddenly keel over and die. It was something the poor lass found quite upsetting, for over all she was a nice person who wished no harm on anyone. She ended up marrying a blind man, having found out that if the receiver of the look couldn’t see it then the curse didn’t work, and actually lived a very happy life.

Professor Severus Snape was currently attempting to duplicate Brunhilda’s abilities. Lacking both Brunhilda’s curse and her pleasant disposition, the look was less than effective, but he sure has hell wasn’t going to stop trying.

For all of its lack of in killing strength, Harry found the glare to be unsettling all the same and strongly wished it would be directed somewhere else entirely.

“Mr. Potter, how do you feel about losing your Divination class?” McGonagall questioned from amid shuffling papers. She made a sound of annoyance and flicked her wand. The papers settled themselves into proper order. Harry straightened himself under the intensity of Snape’s look, trying to quell the nasty feeling it was giving him.

Before he could answer, Snape spoke up smoothly. “I really don’t see where he would have a problem, especially since the class interferes with Draco’s Arithmancy.”

Draco took up the offered line easily, “And I did agree to take Charms and Herbology with Gryffindors, after all, I don’t see why you can’t grant me a favor.”

Previously ready to agree, Harry instantly changed his line of comment. “And I’m taking History and Transfiguration with Slytherins, so I don’t see how that applies.”

Gray eyes narrowed in thought, Draco hitched his chair forward so he was the main receptor of the hate glare. “We can sit at dinner with your friends on weekends and Mondays.”

“Monday through Friday, or no deal.”

“But that’s five days...oh, all right. But all holidays are with Slytherins!” Draco poked his arm for emphasis. Harry nodded.

“Deal. You’ll have to help me with the class, I’ve never taken it.”

“No, you’ll just have to fail.”

“Miss Granger is in that class as well, I’m certain you can arrange some study time with her.” Professor McGonagall’s expression made it quite clear she would accept no excuse for failure. “Well, that settles it then. Oh, for your information, the Headmaster has decided to inform your families of this event in three days time, after he has had the chance to speak with you. You can go back to your rooms now.” She tapped the papers on her desk and they began flying around again; some filing themselves away, others folding themselves up and sealing for mailing.

Draco made as if to protest, but changed his mind. He and Harry stood, and Snape rose as well. “I’ll escort you back.” He offered silkily. Harry’s stomach dropped and Draco smiled in delight.

The trio moved quickly down the hall, the boys still nervous about schoolmates and a certain poltergeist. Snape walked alongside Draco, pointedly ignoring the arm he had partially wrapped around Potter’s waist.

“I’m pleased to see you’re holding up well. I know how difficult this must be for you.” Snape said to Draco with almost fatherly concern. Draco rolled his shoulders in a shrug.

“Its hellish. But.” He gave Harry a sidelong look. “It shows promise for improvement.” Harry fought a losing battle with a blush. Snape snorted in mild disbelieve and continued on.

“I’ve taken the time to search through the library. I’m sorry to say the counter spell won’t work at this time, but after a few months, the spell should be sufficiently weak that the counter spell will---“

“Break it?” The teens spoke up in near perfect unison.

“No, sadly not, but it will weaken it to a much greater extent than if left to time. Ah, here we are.” The guard to their room was an old picture of Lockhart that got left behind. It was currently involved in a compact mirror and didn’t look up as they stopped in front of it. “Have a nice evening Draco. Don’t forget you can come talk to me whenever you feel like it.”

Harry was aware that he was being deliberately excluded and for once, didn’t really give a damn. “Complication.” He half snapped. The Lockhart gave him a dirty look for interrupting his preening, but the portrait swung open anyways. Draco was still chattering with Snape, appearing as though the world were a bright, happy place. A sick feeling rushed through Harry and he tugged on Draco.

This somehow inspired Severus to glance up and favor Harry with his best impression of Brunhilda Osguard yet. Harry forced himself not to cringe before it. If he thought Snape hated him before...

Draco turned suddenly, pushing Harry into the room. “Goodbye, Professor. I’ll see you later.”

“Hmm.” Snape nodded, attention still fixed on rendering Harry lifeless, when Draco unceremoniously closed the portrait in his face. Harry gave his a wide-eyed look.

“What?” Draco demanded of Harry’s apparent awe. Harry shook his head.

“I’m speechless!”

“Oh good, stay that way.” Draco sounded more testy with himself than with Harry. He ran a hand through his hair, twisting his fingers in the silvery-blond length. “I must be losing my mind.” He said softly.

______________________

“Oh. My. God.”

“Yes, horrifying, isn’t it? Can you believe a five-foot essay on the history of cauldrons? I mean, how much can you say about cauldrons, really? It's positively cruel I tell you.” Ron gestured dramatically with his quill.

“What? No, no, not that. I already finished it. I mean, this!” Hermione slid the book in front of him, nudging him over in the chair to fit her slender body. He scooted over a bit to make room for her and leaned over the pages.

“My, a color chart. Shocking, really.”

“Twit. It’s a color code for emotions and the way they appear in spells. Remember the colors during that protection spell?”

“Yeah, silver and read, wasn’t it?” Now interested, Ron leaned closer over the book, putting his arm behind Hermione’s back to make more room for her on the chair.

“Exactly. Harry’s was silver, read what it says.”

“ ‘Silver--The color of mistaken emotion. Love that has been confused with hate.’ “ Ron stopped and re-read the sentence. Then did a third and fourth time to make sure he read it right. “Oh, my, God.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Hermione nodded dismally. “Read the one for red, that was Draco.”

“ ‘Red--The color of denied emotions. Love that has been strongly and deeply denied, almost to the point of being forgotten. Can develop into an obsession.’ Good Lord, this certainly puts a twist on things.”

“To say the least. Should we tell Harry?”

Ron looked up from checking the descriptions for typos or possible misreading on his part; “Oh, of course. ‘Hello Harry, did you know you’re madly in love with the boy you’ve been hating for five years? Trust us Harry, we got it out of a book, and you know those never get us into trouble.’ That’ll go down real well.”

Hermione pushed him off the chair.

______________________

“Look, maybe you should tell him.”

“Absolutely not! There must be some mistake in the text, it’s just a matter of figuring it out.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“Leave me alone. I can hope can’t I?”

“There is a fine line between hope and denial and you’re crossing it.”

“This is why I like hanging out with Harry more than you.”

“Thanks, Ron. But seriously, we should tell him. Or at least clue him into it, I’m certain that the teachers already know.”

“Yes and that worries me. I hate it when they know more than we do.”

“Um, Ron, they’re supposed too. That’s why they’re the teachers and we’re the students.”

“See, there you go bringing reality into it...” Ron propped his feet up on the table, as if to block out his friends logic. Hermione laced her thin fingers together and rested her chin on them, watching Ron from under arching eyebrows.

“Well, most of us do live in the real world. At least as real as Hogwarts ever gets.”

Colin took that moment to scuttle over to their table. He’d lost most of his Harry-worship over the years, his steady girlfriend helped in that regard, but he still stayed on top of the latest Potter info. He was also still the shortest of his year-group.

“Guys!” He panted, having apparently run all the way there. “I just heard the strangest thing! They say Harry is sleeping with Draco Malfoy! Can you believe that?”

Hermione’s chin slipped off her hands and she just barely kept from banging it on the table. Ron slouched lower in his seat until his shoes hid his face. Colin looked from to the other, like he was watching a particularly wild Quiddritch match.

“Well?” He demanded, bouncing lightly from one foot to the other. Hermione looked at him seriously.

“They’re not having sex, if that’s what you want to know.” She tossed back her hair in a manner that would have put Narcissa Malfoy to shame. “Frankly, I’m appalled that you would even think of such a thing or go around spreading rumors about it.”

Colin stopped bouncing, wide eyed. “I w-wasn’t suggesting...don’t tell Harry I said anything about it, okay? Please?” He shifted again, nearly incapable of staying still for a long time, “But I didn’t mean---not really---I’d just heard...”

“Its okay Colin, I believe you.” Hermione interrupted quickly, “Just don’t go spreading it around.”

“I won’t! I promise!” With that he took off again, like a frightened hummingbird. Ron was staring at her through his spread shoes. Hermione shook her head in dismay.

“He didn’t say they were having sex.”

“Ron, you’re not that innocent so don’t pretend to be.” She folded her arms on the table and rested her head in them. “I’m actually surprised it took this long to get back to us.” She lifted her head so that her chin was pressed into the hardwood.

Ron wove his quill around his fingers, wondering how innocent Hermione thought he wasn’t. “Harry’s gonna kill us when he finds out about this.”

“He won’t get the chance to. Malfoy will get there first. C’mon, let's brush up on our curse blocking skills.”

______________________

With the drapes drawn, at the right time of the day, sunlight covered the right side of the bed, creating a puddle of warmth that was perfect for curling up in. They hadn’t bothered to make the bed for two days running; neither was allowing the other’s friends to visit and it was simple to close the bed draperies against the prying eyes of visiting teachers. Instead, they wallowed among the haphazard bed sheets like lazy kittens, soaking up heat and company, though they would strongly deny the latter, strangely comfortable in the dream-like quality that settled on them when left alone. It was much more insolated here than in the hospital ward.

The need for constant contact had faded quite a bit and they made a point of enjoying the hour or so they could tolerate not touching. They were currently enjoying one such time frame. Harry was sprawled on his back, selfishly taking up most of the sunny spot, one foot on the flattened pillows, the other hanging off the bed and swinging at the knee. Both of his arms arched above his head, like in a parody of a virgin sacrifice, the right one twitching in Draco’s direction against his will.

Draco sat cross-legged with arms and chest braced against the footboard. His eyes were half-closed and he had that look people sometimes get when contemplating the universe. His fingers pressed and rubbed the smooth expanse of polished oak, following the twists of the grain with single-minded focus.

“One of the tables in my father’s library was made of this wood.” He said softly. Harry closed his eyes and hummed in reply. “I used to sit in a high chair made just for me with books that read themselves when I touched the words. Mother would sit next to me and make sure I read as much as I listened.”

Harry listened to Draco’s breathing, an unpleasant pressure teasing his temples. “There was this cartoon Dudley used to watch when he was younger. For some reason, he would let me watch it with him. He even shared his candy with me one time.” He paused in his story, left foot swinging up high, sunlight reflecting off pale toes. “It only happened once.” He concluded turning his head until his face was tucked against the curve of his shoulder. He breathed in, the material of his robe adhering to his mouth and opened his eyes. Draco shifted a bit closer to him.

“Mother would sing sometimes when she was bored. She didn’t do it very well, I think, because father would tell her she sounded like a dying seagull. I thought it was all right.” His right hand slipped off the footboard, picking at a fold in the bedding.

“Aunt Petunia would sing along with the radio. And if dying seagulls sounded like that, I only hope someone was kind enough to put them out of their misery. She had the worst taste in music.” He watched the progress of Draco’s hand on the bed. He had such pale skin, pale as the skin of Harry’s feet and ankles that never saw the sun. “She’d listen to this really old, hooky music.”

“All Muggle music is bad.” Draco had slim, graceful hands, with neatly trimmed nails that still managed to get dirt under them. Harry closed his eyes to stop looking at them.

“This was even worse. Believe me.” He stretched his arms out to their full length, pads of his fingers scraping the footboard. He pulled his left foot back onto the bed, twisting onto his side to face Draco, exposing his backside to the sun’s heat. Draco tucked his head catlike into the arch of his left arm, silvery hair falling across cool gray eyes. 

“There was a monster in moot around the manor. I’ve never seen it clearly, only a few arms and heads. I used to throw my dinner leftovers to it so I wouldn’t have to finish them. That is, until my nurse caught me at it.” He smiled faintly, eyes suddenly opaque. “Father thought it was clever of me.”

Harry brought his hand closer to Draco’s, the pain in his temples and the empty, hollow ache in his stomach getting harder to ignore. 

“You talk about your father a lot,” he said softly, maybe so Draco wouldn’t hear properly.

“He’s important to me,” Draco said. He was the one that brought their hands together and Harry nearly gasped aloud as relief and warmth flooded him. “Maybe more important than my mother. Mostly my nurses took care of me; father did all the fun stuff. Hmm, just three minutes over an hour.”

Harry pushed himself up and checked the timekeeper. Draco was right. The position put them at nearly eye level. In his mind, Harry saw himself pulling Draco closer, on top of him and wrapped around him like the way they slept. All long limbs and hot, pale skin, and lean frame, and stormy eyes that flashed lightening when threatened. Harry turned away from the suddenly accessing look in those same eyes, turned until his back was pressed against the footboard, their shoulders touching.

Things were getting out of hand and quickly.

Sometimes he thought Draco was aware of his increasing interest. Was challenging him to try something, anything. Other times, when panic or disgust was apparent in the other’s narrow face, Harry was uncertain. Trying to comprehend Draco was an elusive an act as catching the Snitch in a windstorm. But that he had done, surely he could to this. The question was, could it happen before he lost control of whatever was being set loose inside of him?

Draco leaned into his side and Harry listened to his breathing and absorbed the warmth of the sun. Tomorrow, they would see Dumbledore and discuss telling Lucius Malfoy about his son’s new bedmate and see what came of that. The day after tomorrow, they would return to normal classes and rumors and Hermione and Ron. He looked forward to seeing his friends again.

“We should be able to separate even more tomorrow. Than we’re home free after that...”

\---No, it’ll just be starting.

______________________

It was clear from the expression on Draco’s face that he had never been here before. His gaze traveled restlessly from the bookshelves, to the desk, to the cabinets, to Fawkes preening on his perch. Harry was more caught up in the memories of the Headmaster’s office, for it always seemed he came here when something bad was happening or going to happen.

The door opened and Dumbledore himself entered, long bearded and bright eyed. He hadn’t been at Hogwarts that much recently, he was one of the main planners for the fight against Voldemort and was frequently on the move. Still, he made time for his students, which is what made him a good Headmaster.

“Ah, good. You’re both here.” He smiled openly, striding further into the room. Draco pulled a face at the unspoken suggest that they would come separately. Dumbledore seated himself at his desk, long white whiskers brushing his hands as he braced his elbows on the desk and wove his fingers together. He gazed at them thoughtfully and they gazed back.

“Young Malfoy,” he began, “You have expressed the desire to let your father know that you have become spell bound to young Potter here.”

Draco was quiet, but sat up straighter when he realized he was supposed to respond. “Yes...sir.” Harry pressed his lips together, annoyed. Dumbledore raised a single eyebrow and looked amused.

“You are aware of your father amenity to Harry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How do you think it would react to this?”

“Well, he would---“ Draco stopped, brow lowering as his did some quick, albeit late, mental calculations, “He would make sure that things were sped along quicker. Ah, quickly as possible and--“

Harry beamed with mischievous delight. Draco had been bragging to him, and the other teachers, about just what his father would do when he got here. It was amusing to see Draco stumble before Dumbledore’s steady gaze.

“Look, sir. My father has many resources and I’m certain he would be able to help separate us.” Draco finished smoothly, doing a creditable job of making up for his earlier slip. The Headmaster sighed.

“I didn’t ask what your father was capable of, Mr. Malfoy, I was asking how he would react to this. He would love to see Harry dead and you are, in a sense, placing Harry into his lap.” Fawkes ruffled his feathers and yawned.

“What are you suggesting?” Draco demanded, sitting up ramrod straight in his chair. Harry leaned further back into his chair and pressed his wrist against Draco’s.

A cool look replaced the normally bright, warm one on Dumbledore’s face. “If given the chance, Lucius Malfoy would put Harry in Voldemort’s hands, without a second thought. Surely you know this.”

Draco looked baffled and off balance. “But that’s different.”

“Oh really? I’m dead either way.” Harry spoke up a bit testily. Draco shot him an angry, confused look.

“It was one thing before, but it's different now. I’ll talk to him. He’ll fix things.” Draco said with unshakable conviction. Harry got the sudden strange image of a child Draco looking up at his father with absolute devotion.

“So when it's over,” Harry said slowly, “And we’re separated, then its okay if your father turns me over to Voldemort.” He felt oddly hollow saying it, even though the thought had lingered in the back of his mind for a long time. As if giving it voice made the possibility greater. [Damn you Draco.]

For his part, Draco looked as though the rock solid ground beneath his feet was suddenly supportive as Jell-O. “Look, it’s different, I’m telling you.” Draco leaned forward and then toward the other teen, as if he was trying to pull away from Harry and curled up against him at the same time.

“Different because now Mr. Potter means something to you?” Dumbledore questioned calmly, clear eyes watching their interaction.

“No!” Draco protested too quickly. Harry was starting to feel agitated; Draco’s upset was bothering him and he captured Draco’s wrist in his fingers, wanting to protect and comfort at the same time.

“So it wouldn’t matter if Harry became hurt?”

Draco flinched, pulling back into his chair. “I won’t let that happen.” He spoke just above a whisper. His hand twisted, catching Harry’s fingers in a death grip, not looking at the other boy. His eyes were fixed on Dumbledore.

“Even if it’s your father causing the pain?” There was quiet intend in Dumbleore’s tone, like a bloodhound searching endlessly for its goal. It might have soothed or at least pricked Harry’s curiosity under any other circumstance, but now he was becoming increasingly upset and hardly noticed it.

“I won’t let it happen.” Draco said again, looking for a brief heartbeat as if he was being torn in two. It passed on swiftly and he looked calm, cool, and certain once again. The coolness was actually something Harry had missed the past few days and seemed strangely out of place on Draco’s face. “But I don’t have to worry about that. I trust my father.” Pure faith, completely unquestionable.

“I’m glad that someone does.” Was all Dumbledore said, the warmth returning to his face. “Harry, do you care if I write to the Dursleys about this?”

He started to something along the lines of ‘knock yourself out’, but changed his mind while the words were en-route to his mouth. He could just imagine life with the Dursleys after they had even more things to bother him with. No, he could do without that.

“Um, do they have to know?”

“The spell bond will still be in affect over the summer. So if you and Mr. Malfoy end up living with them, it would be better if they knew about it beforehand.” Dumbledore reminded him.

“Oh no, not the Muggles. If had to live with them, I may be forced to curse them.” Draco protested, returned to his normal self. Harry eyed him critically.

“Tell them. We’re staying with the Dursleys this summer.” 

Dumbledore’s mouth quirked and Draco sputtered in annoyance.

“Absolutely not!”

“Stop complaining, you sound like a five year old.”

“I’ll just get started on those letters.”

“You act even more childish than me, Potter.”

“Now there’s a comeback.”

______________________

Narcissa was at her vanity, applying perfume with the crystal stopper to the graceful curve of her wrists and neck. Each movement was studied and practiced, each daily activity a show for her private audience. Imagined or real. Lucius watched from the doorway, not yet announcing his presence. She was lovely as an expensive statue and even more valuable. Cool sapphires settled against pale flesh as she secured a necklace about her slender throat. Draco got his slim beauty from her.

Thinking of his son spurred Lucius into the room. He pulled the bejeweled hair comb from her neatly styled bun, releasing the holding spell that came with it and setting free a tumble of honey dark hair about her face. She turned to look up at him; hands skimming down her front to land in her lap, making no other reaction to his play.

He set the comb on the counter amid the small bottles and flasks. “Use the diamond one. It suits you better.” She smiled faintly, the lightest curve of painted lips and picked up the aforementioned hairpiece.

Narcissa didn’t brattle pointless gossip at him and expect him to listen like other women did. In fact, Narcissa didn’t brattle at all, didn’t open her mouth unless she had something worthwhile to contribute. It was a trait that had first drawn him to her side. “I got a letter about Draco today from Hogwarts.”

“Oh?” Flawless arms curved into elegant arches above her head as she re-secured her hair. He held out the parchment and she brought down her arm in a smooth dancer-like motion, washing him a wave of flower sweet perfume. She took the parchment delicately, twisting in her seat so that their knees touched. He watched her closely as she read.

At a length, she lowered the paper and regarded him though blue eyes clouded with silvery gray. “There are other ways to gain wealth and power.” She said simply, as though carrying on a different conversation.

Lucius shook his head and captured one tiny wrist, bringing it to his nose. “You don’t double-cross the tiger that’s been set free.” He countered softly, breathing in the sweetness of her perfume. “There are rewards and there are prices, and when one outweighs the other, there are choices to make.”

He looked at her briefly, an unspoken question of loyalties. He kissed her palm, curling her fingers inward. She tilted her head at him, promising and coy, submissive and challenging. Playing to her invisible audience.

“Whatever you wish, Lucius.” She answered lovingly.

And meant it.

______________________

It was first started by a Hufflepuff second year who’d ‘overheard’ two of the Professors discussing something along the lines of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy staying together. That wasn’t the exact wording, of course, but it was the general feel of the conversation according to the boy. From there was an understandably short leap from ‘staying together’ to ‘sleeping together’. The rumor spread unhindered throughout the school before hitting a brick wall amongst the Gryffindor sixth years and a certain Colin Greevey.

Myriam Demothi, a seventh year Ravenclaw and current head of the gossipmongers, went about reforming the rumor in question. She doubted it from the onset, since in all her seven years at Hogwarts she had never once heard the Professors discussing student (sexual) relationships, and also, Ron Weasley was still in strong support of Harry. Such an event as Harry Potter getting ‘down and dirty’ with the enemy would have earned him a serve snubbing from his best friend at the very least. So she dispatched her informants and kept her ears open.

Eleanor Branstone reported having seen Harry and Draco holding hands while walking in the company of Professor McGonagall (she’d been a mouse at the time do to a Transfiguration homework mishap). Terry Boot later mentioned a picture of the former DADA teacher placed in an infrequently used hallway, which would have been nothing except Natalie McDonald elaborated that she had seen Ron and Hermione hanging around that same portrait more than once. Someone else tricked Malcolm Baddock into telling about Crabbe and Goyle’s repeat visits to the hospital ward (for a Slytherin, he was delightfully easy to fool). He went further to explain that Professor Snape had been helping set up some sort of room, though he didn’t know the exact reason why.

Then someone overheard Dennis Greevey talking about overhearing Hermione and Ron discussing some sort of spell. Both seemed rather upset about it and Dennis had been of the impression that they blamed themselves for...whatever. To Myriam, the whole mess smacked of an improperly cast love spell.

With that in mind, she began fabricating quite a detailed rumor along those lines, tossing in that it was originally meant for Hermione, just to make it more interesting. The new rumor had spread all the way through Ravenclaw and was nudging its way into Hufflepuff when the teens in question returned to regular classes.

Once again the reports were streaming in, only now things didn’t seem anywhere near as clear-cut as a simple love spell. Draco and Harry now shared an identical class schedule, sat near each other in those same classes, ate at the same table during meals, and even followed each other to the privy. The factors just didn’t add up right. There had been one or two incidents with love spells at Hogwarts in the past few years and the pair in question never rejoined the public until the spell had worn off or been removed. Even if the spell had been left in place, for whatever reason, the teachers wouldn’t go through all the trouble of rearranging class schedules. Or setting up their own private dorm room, as Myriam suspected.

The two didn’t act right either. There was none the mooning and snuggling of a consummated love spell, or even the pleading desperation of a denied one. Desire was there and frequent touching, but otherwise they acted exactly like two sworn enemies forced into each other’s company. Faylen Moon went into great detail about an incident during Arithmancy where the pair had started yelling at each other.

He wasn’t certain exactly how it began, just that they were suddenly on their feet shouting. Harry was accusing Draco of deliberately making him mess up and Draco insisted that Harry was just stupid. They went back and forth for a while until the teacher came over to stop it. Moon swore that they absolutely hated each other and it was only the teacher’s presence that kept them from beating each other senseless.

Lisa Trupin had told an entirely different story. She had History with them. They were, of course, the center of attention in all the classes, but most especially in History where they offered a welcome relief from the tedium. At first that is, after a while they were ignored. Lisa was the only one still looking. So that’s why she, or so the story went, was able to catch the ‘Look’ that passed between them. She was certain they were going to ravish each other right there for all the class to see. Wouldn’t that just perk up History class like nothing else?

Myriam took in all these tales and tidbits and finally decided that no one rumor was going to cover the situation. It was going to take three or better. After sending someone off to bully information on the Slytherin side of things out of Malcolm, she settled down to work. There was much to be told, after all.

______________________

The Slytherin’s were making a point.

What exactly that point was, beyond the fact that they simply didn’t like him, Harry couldn’t tell, but they were certainly making an honest effort to send it across. He’d never had so much food spilled on him since Dudley was learning to use a spoon.

[Exactly why did I agree to sit at the Slytherin table on our first day back?] He wondered as a spoon full of pudding became acquainted with his shoulder.

Draco wasn’t making any attempt to stop it, though he had been courteous enough to spare him a lap full of boiling tea earlier. In fact, Draco seemed quite delighted that his housemates had found a way of attacking Harry that didn’t involve hurting him or overtly insulting him. Harry ate his dinner in silence with the air of someone a handbreadth away from causing death and mayhem. Draco talked cheerfully with his fellow Slytherins, gathering the latest news.

From across the Great hall, Ron and Herminone were mouthing things like ‘We’re sorry’ and ‘Don’t kill us’, while the rest of the Gryffindors looked caught between sympathy and annoyance. It seemed like there was going to be few fights over this.

[Can’t anything happen to me without the entire school getting involved?] It had been a bad day all the way around, for all it had started out nicely with being able to take a shower by himself for the first time in a week. Ever since that dream he’d been mortally afraid that he’d embarrass himself in front of Draco (the only consolation was that Draco kept silent when they showered and seemed just as embarrassed by it). Besides, washing with your eyes closed is harder than it sounds.

Classes did provide a welcome distraction from Draco’s closeness (it's hard to think potentially dirty thoughts with Snape glaring at him), but also presented a problem as every time he leaned against Draco or brushed his hand to comfort that lingering internal ache; he suddenly found they were the sole attention of an entire classroom of curious teenagers. It was disconcerting to say the least. Thankfully, as the news spread and the day progressed, the attention faded.

Draco stole a bread roll from his plate without pausing in his current conversation. Harry retaliated by snagging a cake piece from Draco’s plate. A dramatically swung spoon sent a spray of gravy onto his fingers and the cake. He paused in lifting the cake to his mouth, eyes wide as he scanned the damage done.

“My, how clumsy of me.” Smirked the Slytherin responsible for the splashing, bouncing the spoon between his fingers. Harry’s eyebrows lowered as his eyes narrowed. He badly wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of anything that didn’t have to with brain-damaged donkeys and the boy’s heritage.

“You’re a mess.” Draco suddenly noted, chewing contentedly on Harry’s bread roll.

“I’m thrilled that you noticed.” Harry snapped in return, for once thankful for Draco’s commentary. Draco waved the bread at him disapprovingly.

“Can’t you eat without spilling all over?”

“Don’t you even start.” Harry half-snarled, aware that Draco was using this to play up to his friends. He started cleaning his fingers with his tongue. Draco gazed innocently at the ceiling.

“There now, look at that. Licking himself clean like a dog.” Pansy’s sharp voice chimed up mockingly. The rest of the table laughed. Harry rolled his eyes to where she sat, across and down a few seats from them, and so missed the way Draco’s mouth tightened.

“That’s hardly accurate, Pansy dear,” Draco spoke up mildly, still looking up at the ceiling, now a brilliant false-summer blue. Pansy made a motion that was a combination shrug and head tilt, mouth twisted with belligerence.

“You’re just saying that.” She dismissed his statement, stabbing fiercely at her already dead and properly charred beef.

One of the first year Gryffindors had learned a Messaging Spell and was writing something in the air above the table. However, the words kept on appearing misspelled and out of order, so the point was being lost. Several other students tried to help the kid out.

Harry nibbled on the cake piece and was pleased to find it not too ruined by the gravy. The Slytherins beside him began talking in stage whispers. 

“The problem with Gryffindors is that they are so bloody self-righteous. Everyone has to think their way and believe in the things they believe in.”

“Exactly! They can’t just leave things well enough alone. Everyone has to like Muggles and Mudbloods and follow the ways of Goodness and Light. All that bullshit.” The teen closest to Harry gave him a sly glance out of the corner of his eye.

Harry knew he was being baited, but it was still an effort to hold back angry words.

[It’s not bullshit, it’s the truth. And not all Gryffindors are the same. We don’t make anyone believe anything they don't know want to. But hating Muggles and wizards from Muggle families is wrong however you cut it.]

He chewed his mouthful angrily, listing in his head all the bad faults of Slytherins. Under the table, Draco’s leg rubbed against his, distracting him from his internal rant. 

“You do plan on showering tonight, I hope.” Draco said in an undertone, “I’m not sharing a bed with you like that.”

Dead silence fell over the Slytherin table and lapsed into the adjoining Ravenclaw table.

The first year managed to produce a sign that said something to the effect that ‘Slytherin’s suck’, but the house in question was no longer paying attention.

“I didn’t mean it like that!!”

For all he was blushing, Harry couldn’t stop himself from smirking.

______________________

Hanging out in the library was not one of Draco’s favorite activities, but Harry had somehow bullied him into. Okay, he hadn’t been that hard to convince, since he was in a good mood. The memory of Harry Potter splattered with food would bring a smile to his face for years to come. It almost made being in the company of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger tolerable.

“No, you have to translate the spell into numbers first, then you do the calculations.” Hermione wrote furiously on a scrap of parchment and showed it to Harry who continued to look blank.

“But...why? It’s so complicated!” The dark haired boy protested, picking at old marks in that table. Draco felt his lip curl in an automatic sneer. It made perfect sense to him.

“It’s not that complicated. See, each formula represents a different aspect of the spell.” She continued writing and Harry leaned in close to her, tilting his head to get a good look at the numbers and exposing the smooth line of his neck.

Draco slid his eyes away and focused on the book in front of him. He was working on one of the higher-level formulas and having a ruddy time of it. He almost wished he had agreed to tutor Harry, if only to put off working on this problem. And yes, Harry was ignoring him in favor of his friends and he was starting to get annoyed with it.

“Okay, I think I got it now. Like this?”

“Um...almost. Try again with this set.”

Weasley was watching him. Not that it was anything so acceptable as a glare or even an ‘I’m doing this just to piss you off’ sneer. No, it was furtive little glances out of the corner of his eye or when he thought Draco wasn’t paying attention, after which he’d blush or shake his head and look generally bothered. He’d been doing it for the past twenty minutes and if Draco didn’t know better, he’d think Ron was checking him out.

Wasn’t that an interesting thought?

In a laughable, mildly disturbing way. Either way, he was getting strongly irked by it. The redhead was seated at the right hand curve of the round table, feet propped up on the chair next to him, leaning back so that his right shoulder ever-so-lightly rested against Hermione’s. It was becoming like a minor ritual with him. Fidget with the sleeve, readjust the book on the edge of the table, look over at Draco again.

Damnit. It was like having an itch you couldn’t scratch at. Really, he should just curse the other boy and get over with it. Except then he’d have to deal with a sulky Harry, and that could ruin the rest of the evening. 

[Bloody hell, I’m beginning to think of him like my boyfriend. I’m in such trouble.]

There was a warning in him, an awareness of all the terrible things that could happen if he gave into his feelings for Harry. He could think up half a dozen just off the top of his head and that didn’t even begin to cover the over all impossibility of it. After all, they were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, the ‘famous’ rivals of Hogwarts, destined to be forever battling it out. The great fight between Good and Evil in childish miniature. It made him sick. Even in their new situation, the rest of the school expected things to stay otherwise the same. He’d learned as much from his housemates; they were all rooting for him to ‘buck-up’ until the spell was reversed.

He’d never believed himself to be someone who conformed to others conceptions of him and it was rather unpleasant to find he’d been doing just that. Which begged the question, what was he going to do about it now?

_________________

[Is it the blond hair? I always thought Harry went for the dark haired type. Maybe it’s the pale hair and skin combo, it’s different -- in a freaky vampire way. Maybe Harry has a blood thing going on...ewww, no!] Ron’s quill slipped off the parchment and left another mark in the table. [That’s just...no. Not even going to dwell on that. Still...oh, I just don’t get it.]

He’d been trying to evaluate Draco’s appeal ever since Hermione found that color chart. While personally partial to females, Ron could understand being attracted to guys. He just couldn’t fathom having the hots for Draco Malfoy. He was...he was Malfoy. The exact same person who had been making their lives miserable for years. The one who had insulted and hurt their friends and favorite teacher, and who could cause countless more problems just by being the son of Lucius “Death-Eater” Malfoy. And Harry had to go fall in love with him.

Okay, just ignore the whole spell issue; this was the real meat of the problem. Somewhere along the line, Harry’s animosity had become infatuation. Or perhaps, if he remembered the exact wording of the color chart, it was the other way around. But Harry had never told him, never once given him a clue, hadn’t even had the decency to look starry-eyed when albino boy was around. It was frustrating and left him feeling badly betrayed.

[It’s not Harry’s fault,] he tried to reason with himself, giving Draco another covert glance and noticing the way Harry unconsciously leaned toward him, [He really didn’t know either. Probably wouldn’t have ever known if all this mess hadn’t cropped up.] 

That didn’t make him feel better. His thoughts and feelings were a traitorous sea of ‘what ifs’ and ‘hows’ and ‘whens’.

When did the feelings start? On the train that first time? Or did they grow in Harry like fungus on a rotting log? What would Harry have done if Draco had acted differently when they first met? What if he had been nice to Ron, or just nice in general? Would Harry have accepted him? What about all the other times they had to deal with the arrogant teen?

Exactly how close had he come to losing his best friend?

It was uncomfortable and upsetting and only one person could possibly know the answers. Ron shifted in his seat so that his tailbone was no longer digging into the hard wood and opened his mouth.

“So Harry, ever found out something about yourself that you didn’t know about before?” Oh god, did that just come out of his mouth? Ron froze as his table companions looked at him.

“Like what?” Harry wondered, looking honestly curious. Hermione was surprised---she knew what he was getting at. Draco actually appeared guilty and Ron was too appalled at his own brain to analyze that.

“Just...something you never expected about yourself.” Crap, he was still going. He changed his position completely, bringing his feet flat on the ground. “Something like...like...” [Like being in love with your hated enemy. Like having feelings for the person who hurt us both. Like...]

“Like a freckle fetish?”

There was a resounding ‘thud’ as Ron’s body and chair hit the ground. “Ow!”

“A what?” Harry demanded of Hermione, who had the grace to look embarrassed.

“Well, maybe not ‘fetish’, but I am, well, curious,” she stammered, not looking down at where Ron sprawled on the flagstones. “I mean, are they all over? Like, all over, and it’d be fun to, well, trace them and----“

“Stop now.” Ron heard Draco say firmly. He was aware that there was something very profound in Hermione’s statement, he just couldn’t get to it through the dual shock of having the topic he’d been building up to suddenly pulled out from under his feet, and of hearing Hermione Granger use the word ‘fetish’.

“Stopping.” She announced, her blush almost visible from the floor. Freckles? For some reason, Ron kept on thinking of his brothers. He must have landed on his head too hard.

“But how...know what, never mind. I can live without knowing. Actually, I think we’re done here. Draco, let’s go.” There was a rustling of paper and the scrape of chair legs on stone.

“Indeed.” The other boy answered in an amused drawl. “Granger, Weasel.”

“Malfoy!” Harry protested, to which there was only silence. “Bye Ron, don’t get too comfortable down there.” Harry was teasing him he just knew it. He didn’t bother to get up from the floor, just laid there as the two boys left, and tried to process this new information.

Finally, he sat up and gave Hermione a serious look. She turned even redder, grabbed the nearest book, and fled the library entirely.

Well, damn.

______________________

Having graciously held back his laughter for the sake of his friends, Harry let out peals of amusement soon as he and Draco were safely back in their private dorm. He bounced onto the bed as Draco kicked his shoes into the corner.

“That was certainly different.” He snickered. “And here I thought Hermione didn’t have dirty thought in her head...just goes to show what I know.”

“Hmm.” Draco padded barefoot over to the bed, a distant look in his eyes. Harry continued to chuckle in delight, remembering the look on Ron’s face before he fell over backwards. He glanced up at Draco who now stood directly in front of him. 

“Draco?” He questioned, having dropped the ‘Malfoy’ in private a day or two ago.

“Hmm?” Draco stepped up closer, till his knees nearly touched Harry’s bent ones. A prickly feeling spread over Harry’s skin and for some reason this felt different then the other times they were close.

“You aren’t laughing.” Harry stated the obvious, ignoring the way his heart thudded in his chest. Draco’s gaze was quietly assessing. Not challenging like other times, more calculating like the one time they’d played chess and Harry had lost badly. Weighing moves and options to determine the best possible results. Harry didn’t enjoy being regarded like a chess game.

“So?” Draco was practically looming and it made Harry unconsciously lean back.

“And here I thought you’d never miss a chance to laugh and ridicule my friends.” Harry mocked, only half teasing.

“Don’t really care right now.” Draco answered simply, swaying forward slightly, a line drawn between his brows as if debating an internal issue. Their knees came together and Harry felt a strange flush warm his skin. [He’d not doing anything really, stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.]

“Will wonders never cease?” He shook his head in amazement and run a hand through the hair at the back of his neck. He wasn’t terribly surprised to find it sticky with remaining food, since he hadn’t had the time to do more than change his robes and wash his hands and face earlier. “I’m going to take a shower.” He announced suddenly, glad for an excuse to back off a bit. There was something weirdly charged about Draco’s actions, something that made him nervous for reasons he couldn’t name.

“Wait.” Draco caught his shoulder, and before Harry could do more than blink, pushed him back onto the bed. Harry exhaled in surprise then reclaimed the air in a gasp as Draco suddenly draped over him.

This wasn’t anything as chaste as their nighttime cuddling, Draco melted against him, the full weight of his torso fitting and pressing into Harry. It kept him effectively pinned among other things. Heat flared through him as his body responded to the contact, even as his mind dissolved into stuttering shock.

Pale hands caught and curled around his wrists, pressing them into the softness of the bedding as Draco lifted himself slightly. He pushed apart Harry’s legs, settling his hips between them, his own leg stretched out behind him, and the other pressed against the mattress for balance. There was a wild light in his eyes as he brought his face close to Harry’s, examining the brilliant blush and vivid panic in polished jade eyes.

“Hey! What are you---stop---!“ Harry yelped, trying to twist away, even though his own body was fighting him. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? [No! I don’t, I don’t!] But doesn’t he feel so perfect on top of you like this? [No! It’s wrong, so wrong to feel this way for him. I can’t...] Desire warred with fear, want with responsibility. 

It didn’t help that Draco breathed moist air over his lips, watching with interest as Harry’s eyes widened and his breathing hitched. The trapped teen curled his fingers into Draco’s hands, not sure if he was trying to dislodge the grip or return it.

“Just relax,” Draco ordered softly, looking very intent. “I want to try something.”

______________________

“What do you mean ‘try something’?!” Harry squawked in protest. “Ge---get off!” His voice broke when Draco shifted against him. His heart fluttered disturbingly in his chest. Their robes were the only barrier between them, leaving Harry sharply aware of every line and plane of Draco’s shoulders, chest, and hips.

“You complain too much.” Was his only answer. Very carefully, Draco lowered his face to Harry’s neck and pressed his lips against the skin.

“H-hey.” He could duck his head, use his chin to force Draco away, but he was still too shocked to react and then Draco actually licked him. “Ah! What’s gotten into you?” Draco breathed cold air onto the dampness his tongue left behind, setting off a wave of shivers through Harry’s body. His breathing quickened, panic and confusion badly blurring his thoughts.

The pressure of Draco’s mouth returned, stronger this time, kissing firmly. Harry felt his head turning to the side, offering more throat, without really thinking about it. His body was beginning to react to the pressing closeness. Then Draco opened his mouth and sucked.

“Ahh!” Heat pooled in his mind-section, gathering into a nagging itch. “God! Draco, I---“ Harry’s brain was starting to catch up with the situation and he struggled weakly, twisting his body. The pulling heat at his throat sent shudders cascading through him, powerfully distracting and desperate. Draco’s hair brushed his face as he jerked his head around. “You---you----“

Draco made a noise and bit softly. Harry couldn’t stop the sound that escaped him, hips bucking up out of his control. “Wait!” His arms strained against Draco’s grip, the other’s fingers digging into his skin. Draco’s mouth moved from that spot, his tongue following the frantic beat of Harry’s pulse. “Shouldn’t---shouldn’t do this---get off of me!”

“In a bit.” Draco’s voice had gotten rougher and Harry’s heart beat faster as he registered the warm swell pressed into his hip. [He’s getting off on this---] And Harry flushed with the knowledge that he was too. “You like it, so why complain?” Draco echoed his current thoughts, ducking his head to nip at the curve between Harry’s shoulder and neck.

Images and thoughts passed swiftly. He remembered Draco changing, morning sunlight reflecting off his skin. He saw Draco curled in a warm bundle next to him, mouth gaping open in sleep. And the look of wholehearted delight when something pleased him, the way his eyes light up, but his mouth only curved slightly. And the barely veiled amusement when Harry said something funny. And the way his hair fell into his eyes when he bent over his work.

[I am enjoying this. It's good, so good, it's what I want but it isn’t. I’m not supposed----I mean I can’t feel like this. He’s the enemy---no, he isn’t---not really. He just causes trouble---he’s evil---No! He’s not. Not evil or he would have done something---anything---wrong by now. Its just---its just---]

“Because!” Harry gasped, trying to make some sense of his whirling thoughts. “Because---t-the teachers---!” He couldn't be like this, couldn’t just give in. There was something wrong about enjoying the other boy’s body pressed against him so wantonly.

There had to be something wrong with it. Draco snorted against his skin, hands flexing on his wrists. “Don’t give a damn.”

“Y--your h-housemates--ah---“ Sucking lightly on tender spot below his ear.

“Can go sod themselves.” Hips rocking teasingly against his, tongue tracing patterns on sensitive skin.

“Ah---Ron--Hermi---“ Fear is a good feeling, so is guilt. And both are much more acceptable than aching want and desperate hunger.

“Aren’t here.” Draco pushed himself up slightly, offering Harry a smirk before moving his attack to the other side of his neck. Harry sucked in a breath, his resolve weakening, eyes fluttering closed.

His muscles just seemed to want to melt into piles of mush on the bedspread. Except for one part of him that was doing the opposite. Draco’s body fit against his, felt right in ways that didn’t have words, encouraging the increasing warmth in his middle. He wanted, badly, to wrap his arms around Draco and let the other boy do what he wished. To finally silence that nagging ache, to put to rest all the suspicions and uncertainties, because Draco feels...

[Feels what, horny?] Harry’s eyes snapped open and he felt like he’d been plunged in ice water. [Like a quick shag? Like confusing the heck out of me? Or is this because of the spell?]

[Draco would never feel this way for me on his own.]

“Stop. Now.” 

There was no reluctance in his tone now, no cause for argument or doubt. This was an order. While Draco was willing to taunt and tease and push when given the chance, forcing Harry was beyond him. 

He lifted himself up and released Harry’s wrists.

Harry didn’t wait for questions, he pushed Draco away from him completely, scooting backwards on the bed and ignoring the bone deep urge to throw himself back into Draco’s arms. He adjusted his glasses and tugged his robes straight with shaking hands, trying very hard not to look at Draco.

The blond teen remained half-braced against the bed, panting slightly, brow furrowed in confusion. His gray eyes were darkly shadowed, murky with uncertainty and developing anger. Harry focused on calming his breathing, hoping that if he ignored the tight, wet feeling in his chest it would just go away.

“What?” Draco said finally, twisting his body and bouncing up onto the bed forcefully. “What, damn it? What do you want anyway?”

Harry frowned. “Me? I’m not the one just jumping people.”

“You were enjoying yourself!” Draco snapped back, his normally pale face flushed, “I could tell! And I know you don’t believe those stupid excuses. You never gave a damn about other people’s rules to begin with, like hell you’re going to start now.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Point, what point? All I hear is you going off at the mouth!”

“You started it!” Harry fisted his hands in his robe to hide their continued shaking. His body was hot, beating faintly with the rhythm of his blood and he wasn’t sure if it was anger or lingering arousal, but he had the fierce urge to do something, to vent it in any way possible. Myriad emotions flashed through him, twisting his stomach and pounding painfully in his head. He was upset and having a hard time pinning down exactly why.

“No, you started it! You started it by coming here, by daring to breathe in the first place.” Pain shone through the increasing anger in Draco’s face, but Harry wasn’t in any state to deal with it. “What the hell made you choose me for your little experiment, Potter?”

“You were just convenient,” Harry raised his voice, moving onto his knees without thinking, as if getting ready to attack. [How dare he. After what he just did, how dare he be angry with me?]

[But what did he just do?]

“Oh, just your nearest available bad guy? Couldn’t get to You-Know-Who, so I was the best substitute?”

“You were safer.”

[I hate the way you mock me, I hate the sound of your voice when you brag, I hate the look on your face when you’d done something wrong, I hate the way you attack my friends. Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? Why do you have to be my enemy?]

“Well, that’s nice. I’m not even a proper villain, I’m the ‘safe’ one.” Draco’s tone was harshly bitter.

“What, did you really think you were that important?” Venom dripped from his voice. It felt as if the entire week of getting tolerant towards each other was crumbling down, torn apart by aimless fury and uncertainties.

“Apparently not! It’s a wonder you gave a damn about me at all...”

[I didn’t then, but you’re always here now. Always with me, how can I not? But I don’t know what I’m feeling...what you feel and it doesn’t make any sense. I hate it! I hate all of it! I hate you!]

[But I don’t...and I think maybe that’s the worst part.]

“I didn’t!” Harry was yelling now. “And I don’t! You were just there, being an ass for no reason, making my life miserable, and ruining everything! You just can’t leave stuff alone. What is your fascination with always being the middle of it, huh? And what the hell made you decide to harass me in first place?”

Draco’s mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. “You were convenient.”

That stopped Harry and he stared at the other boy with his mouth hanging open. Draco returned the look, his fierce smile breaking apart, his eyes shut tight and reflecting nothing. Silence was a vibrating force between them, laced strongly with pain. It would be easy to say something that would shatter it; a pointless jibe or jab that would dismiss the whole argument and life would return to what had become normal for them.

But one instant, one moment of comfort or anger or stress and it would burst free again, fierce and demanding, an untamed beast they had birthed together, only next time would it wait for so private a moment as this? Or would it happen in public, under the judging eyes of peers and friends?

[What do you want anyways, Harry?]

After a few false starts, Harry spoke softly. “It wasn’t some big decision, I thought about it for maybe a minute. If that. I just...I just wanted you to...” He struggled through his thoughts, letting his gaze slide from Draco’s eyes to his chin. “To back off, to not bother me anymore. You were such a nuisance. Must be fate that I got just the opposite. But it really wasn’t...anything personal.”

“Sounds personal to me.” Draco turned his back to Harry, tilting his head back so the slanted sunlight caught the gossamer stands of his hair. “Flattering, though, to know I affected you that much.”

“I’m glad to know you enjoyed my suffering.” Harry growled in frustration. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.” He ran a hand through his hair roughly.

“It was supposed to?” Draco demanded, a sharp edge to his voice. He watched Harry out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re looking for some deep answers, Harry, you’re in the wrong place.”

[Yeah, wrong place. But where do you go for deep answers, the library?] “It’s never easy with us.” Harry was swiftly losing his thread of conversation, whatever point he was trying to make slipping from his grasp.

“No fun in that.” Defensive, striking without direction, only intent to distract and discourage.

“What do you want, Draco?”

The other boy turned his head slightly, eye catching the gleam of the light. “You, out of my life.”

Harry shifted slightly closer to Draco, fingers pulling at the bedding. “And what about what just happened?”

“What did just happen?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but found it an effort to form the words. Heat in his cheeks warned him he was blushing. [Oh hell.]

“Hmm?” Draco smirked faintly, and Harry found himself wanting to do something serious to the other boy. Like pin him down and...

[Bloody hell.] Harry forced air into his lungs. He felt disoriented and even hurt, but mostly panicky. Somehow though, he was disconnected from the feeling. His still body tingled from Draco’s assault, skin moist where the other’s mouth had been. Gathering his rather formidable courage, Harry began to talk.

“For no reason at all, you suddenly pin me down and start...” he faltered and rushed on, “Start kissing and...and...licking...” Well this was coming out nicely, “Doing stuff to me! With no warning, no reason, nothing! I want to know why.”

Draco scowled. “Are you really that blind? ‘No reason’, you say. Like I need a reason, some excuse for you? We share a bed, Harry. We shower together. We’re living in each other fucking pockets and I need some excuse to want you?”

Harry’s heart stopped. “You...what?”

Draco faltered, eyes widening before they narrowed, something hardening in them. Harry could almost feel him drawing into himself, a pulling up of walls that made his head sting. The blond boy regarded him fiercely face expressionless. “You have ears. Or do those not work either?” He answered back coldly.

[He does...maybe not...but...] Harry shook his head to realign his thoughts. “Okay, so you admit to being interested in me. But...is...are you...?” He trailed off again, staring helplessly at his companion. Draco’s legs dangled off the edge of the bed and he kicked his heels back against the frame. The blond remained silent, not offering any more thoughts on the matter, almost refusing to finish Harry’s sentence.

Harry himself couldn’t seem to finish it, a block of emotions stopping his words. The dark haired teen tried to straighten the jumble in his mind. [He wants---or is willing---to have sex with me---I think, and--and I want it too. A lot, actually. What’s stopping me? Besides the fact that I have to wake up with him for a year regardless of what happens now.] He swallowed the thickness in his throat. Suddenly, that year no longer seemed so terrible. Better even than the years spent heckling each other, driven by a nameless animosity. Something clicked in place at the back of his mind. [Oh no, I didn’t. I couldn’t have.] Events from the past years took on a different angle. If looked at through that altered view, Harry’s reactions could almost be taken as interested. Like a crush in a way, albeit a strange one. [Damn, I have.] This frightened him just considering it.

[I am in such trouble.]

“So, is that it? Just sex?” The words slipped out while Harry continued to mull over his revelation. How the other boy answered had gained a new depth and importance. Confusion and hurt were mutating into a kind of fearful hope and worried desire. Something was spreading in his chest that refused to be contained.

Draco paled, head bowing forward slightly. “I didn’t say sex...” Harry growled something not entirely flattering. Loosening his death grip on the bedding, Harry did the only thing he could do in such a situation; he slid across the messy blankets until he was right next to Draco.

Ignoring the way his heart beat faster and his cheeks warmed, Harry spoke clearly to Draco’s bent head. “How do you really feel about me?”

Body stiffening, Draco ducked his head down further. “I’m not sure.”

“I think you are.”

There was desperation now, clear in partially seen eyes. “No, I’m not. I don’t think about it. In fact I avoid thinking about it. It’s like fate almost; we’re supposed to hate each other, supposed to be enemies, if only because our families come from different sides of the battle. So...I can’t feel anything but hatred for you.” He snorted, “Not to say that I don’t. And damn you, I--I--“

“Yes?” Hope was a dangerous thing, but Harry couldn’t stop it. His stomach was rolling and tremors shivered through his lean frame. He wanted to take Draco in his arms, pull him close and tight and comfort the doubt and fear, and right then, he doubted the spell was fully responsible for this reaction. There were probably a lot of other reactions that weren’t from the spell either, but he’d never considered it.

Beneath the curtain of hair, Draco’s eyes closed. “If you’re expecting me to say ‘I love you’---“

“I don’t expect anything.” Harry stated simply, voice nearly expressionless.

Draco’s head snapped up, gazing meeting Harry’s with the fearfulness of a skittish beast. “So I have feelings for you, lust after you even. I shouldn’t, I don’t want too. I do anyways, despite my best efforts.” He paused, hand clenching into his ropes. “And the bad part is, I enjoy your suffering as much as I enjoy your happiness. I hate you when you’re near and dream of when I can be away from you. When you’re gone, I think---obsess--about when I can see you again.” He made a disgusted noise. “Though I’ve been currently lacking in the latter. I want---I want to hurt you, but I also want to hold you and kiss you and...” Draco trailed off, blood rushing to his face.

Harry blinked a few times in the silence that followed Draco’s confession. “That’s...really disturbing.”

A silvery eyebrow arched slightly.

“But...I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t say I felt...something similar.” Harry winced, hating to admit that. “Though...I think I like you happy or at least pleasant more than suffering. It’s just---there’s no easy way for it. No simple words.” The last was mostly to himself.

Exhaling, Draco fell backward on the bed. The air between them felt strange, untested, and tense. They were heading of into ideas unknown and neither had a bloody clue as where to go about it. “Well, as relationships go, this one sucks.”

Cupping his hand at the nap of his neck, Harry gazed down at his partner. He wanted to think, to take the time to dwell on exactly what he felt and what to do with it. But there wouldn’t be a chance for it, especially not now when matters were still so unsettled between them. [Don’t just sit there, idiot, do something! You’ve wanted too and now’s your chance.] Feeling appallingly silly and melodramatic, Harry reached out and softly touched Draco’s cheek.

The other breathed in but otherwise didn’t move. Tentatively, he trailed his fingertips up toward the hairline, curling into the feathery pale fall as he brought his palm in full contact with Draco’s skin. [There’s something almost wrong about this.] Protests against this feeling clamored amongst his thoughts, the same that had been voiced and dismissed by Draco, and others that weren’t fully formed. Then storm gray eyes locked in with his, a maelstrom of emotions in their depths, none clearly identifiable.

[I don’t care.]

And he didn’t, because he was leaning down toward the source of his pain and desire, who was responding by arching up wantonly. He didn’t, because their lips were meeting, hesitant on his part and more forceful on the other end, and Draco was one hell of kisser. It was going to be hellish to manage and even worse working through the bad karma strewn between them and the battlefield of friends and enemies beyond that.

But right then, he didn’t care, because he was himself, and if he wanted something bad enough, he would get it. Some way, he would get it.

______________________

Usually around late afternoon when the last class ended there was maybe two or three hours of strong light left and the tree near the lake was the best place to enjoy them. Despite contrary belief, Hermione did not spend all of her study time indoors. Truthfully, any place with adequate light was suitable and warm fall days, like this one, were better enjoyed outside. It might have surprised her classmates further to discover she wasn’t even really studying.

Hermione smiled faintly at her thoughts. She flipped through the book in her lap, a collection of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Her parents, unlike the parents of many precocious children, had not kept her activities and reading material limited to education pursuits. They were bigger on play and fun time than even she had been, and had made sure she was exposed to all the usual childhood fairy tales and storybooks. She’d come to love the fantasy world of magic at an early age, but she’d always wanted to know more.

It wasn’t enough to know that dragons ate princesses, she wanted to why they did it. What was so different about a princess, anyway? Why did things always happen to them? And those witches; how did their magic work? Why did it work? Why were the witches always evil? And mermaids, and werewolves, and unicorns, how did they live? Where would they live if they were real? Where, how, and always why, until her father took her aside one day asked if she knew that the fairy tales weren’t real.

‘Magic is just fantasy, it doesn’t exist in real life.’

‘I know, daddy, I just like to pretend.’

[Except we were both wrong,] Hermione thought, clearly remembering the day she’d received her letter from Hogwarts. The feeling of knowing that not only was magic real, but that she had the ability to use it, had been incredible. Then had come the books, nearly half a dozen books filled with everything she’d ever wanted to know about magic. After that was the library at Hogwarts and the classes themselves, all open to her hungry mind. Now she knew about the werewolves, and unicorns, and all of them, and there was even more she didn’t know just waiting to be learned.

But the fairy tales were still fantasy. 

That had been the strangest to come to terms with. Everything she’d read in her storybooks was real...just not the way they were written. Often, the only similarity between the Muggle version and the real-life article were their names. She’d learned as much the one time she had shown Ron one of her old fantasy books.

He’d had a right good laugh at the Muggles’ mixed up views of the world he’d grown up in. Her pointed comment about the ridiculous nature of his own Muggle based books had quieted him down a bit. Wizards didn’t even have the excuse Muggles did; they knew far more about the mundane world then the Muggles did about magic. But she’d always had a strong sense of reality and learned to accept this new one with her usual speed.

Hermione paused over the story of ‘Hansel and Gretel’ before setting the book aside. Sometimes she thought about the witch in the woods---bet she was a Slytherin, said the teasing voice in the back of her head that sounded like Ron---spending her time luring helpless children into her hearth. Some bizarre, unusual corner of her organized mind wondered if she, as a fellow witch, shouldn’t gain a sort of understanding for the deranged creature. It was pointless speculation, and completely unfounded. Magic offered no knowledge or understanding on its own; such things have to be worked for.

A wind picked up, cascading across the surface of the lake, and creating a quiet music in the branches of the tree. Several dry leaves scattered down from the disturbed limbs, speaking of the upcoming winter and getting tangled in Hermione’s hair. The light was fading and before long she’d have to go back inside. Picking up and opening her Arithmancy book, Hermione purposefully settled down to study.

Quickly becoming engrossed in the inaccuracies of the subject, Hermione lost track of the outside world. The light hadn’t quite gotten dim enough that she was squinting when a tap on the shoulder shocked her back into awareness. “Oh! Don’t do that, Ron!” She jumped, instantly recognizing the brilliant flair of his hair.

“Sorry,” he stepped back before squatting down across from her. She tucked the book closer to her chest, self-consciously running a hand through her hair and pulling out bits of leaves. “Herm I...“

“Wait,” she held out her hand and he stopped, confusion flitting over his expressive face. “About earlier today, in the library, I’m sorry I...interrupted you like that, but I just decided that we should let Harry and Draco figure things out on their own.” She brought her hand down, curling it into the grass.

Ron looked away, bouncing slightly on his toes. “I sort of figured that.” There was an unusual expression marring his features. Hermione studied him briefly. She’d thought long and hard about his reaction to being so disconnected from Harry.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it? We’ve had him all to ourselves all these years and now we have to share him,” she said gently teasing, an undercurrent of sadness to her tone. Ron was startled, she could tell. 

He rocked back, landing softly on his rear and folding his legs together. For a moment, she half-expected him to ask ‘him, who?’ but he sighed and said, “We didn’t really have him ‘all to ourselves’, did we now? The rest of the school---world---kept on getting involved.”

“They don’t know him like we do,” Hermione insisted with quiet force, “They can’t and wouldn’t. He’s our best friend. And every minute we have with him is ten times better than whatever hours he shares with the rest of the world. They can all go sod themselves.”

Ron snorted with amusement, eyes lighting up with good humor. “Maybe we should it pin to his robes. ‘I’m Ron Weasley And Hermione Granger’s Best Friend, Hands Off.’ That’d be a sight.” He paused and made an unhappy sound, “Though we may have to add ‘Draco Malfoy’s Boyfriend’ in there at some point.”

Several responses rushed through her mind. Reasons, theories, explanations, excuses, everything she’d dwelt on when studies weren’t enough to still her busy mind. She was quite confident she could lecture Ron on their relationship with Harry and his with Draco, but she was equally confident such a lecture wouldn’t do a bit of good.

Instead, all she said was; “Either way, he’s still our friend, and Draco won’t change that.” 

Ron watched her closely, as if trying to read something from her eyes. After a moment, he nodded, letting out a breath. “You’re right.”

“Hmm, I’ll remember you said that.”

A comfortable pause settled between the two friends, filled with the distant sounds of their classmates heading inside or talking in the still warm dusk. Ron interrupted it with a cough, bowing his head and scratching uneasily at the back of his neck.

“Um, you know, that wasn’t the main reason I came to talk you.”

“Oh?” Hermione cocked her head.

“Actually, yeah. Um.” Was he blushing? “I was really, kinda, wondering about that um, freckle thing...”

______________________

“Wait, wait...”

“Oh, not this again...”

“Shut up. It’s not that. I’ve just never really...” Harry stopped and made a vague gesture with his hand, the movement rather impaired by Draco’s weight on top of him. [How did I get into this position again? Oh right, we were kissing...]

“Yes?” Draco demanded, frustrated.

“You know, never really done...done this before.” He choked slightly on the words, his face making an honest effort to blush harder. Draco let out an annoyed growl, pulling at the collar of Harry’s robes.

“And I’m the slut of Slytherin dungeons.” He got his right hand under the dark cloth and spread his fingers over Harry’s skin. 

Harry eyes went wide as he registered Draco’s statement. “So you’re a virgin?” 

“I didn’t say that...” Draco protested, frowning.

“And here I thought you were getting down with Pansy---“ He was forced to break off when Draco covered his mouth with one hand.

“You realize you’re killing the mood here?” Draco removed Harry’s glasses with his free hand, setting them somewhere towards the foot of the bed since the nightstand was further away than he wanted to reach. Harry mumbled something undecipherable before tonguing Draco’s palm.

The blond teen made a face at that, the pressure of his hand loosening, until Harry got to the base of his ring finger and started to suck on that. Harry watched with interest as the look on Draco’s face changed from faint disgust to surprised pleasure. He decided that he liked the idea of Draco enjoying his touch. In fact, Harry found the whole concept of having Draco Malfoy writhing beneath him in helpless passion really quite thrilling.

He’d been in some state of arousal, mild or otherwise, since Draco had first pinned him. The knowledge that he could now do something about it was making him breathless and daring and afraid. The problem was that he had no real idea how to go on about it. Expect for a few stolen kisses in the hallways and the occasional sticky dream, (where he’d first become uncomfortably aware that he preferred the male form to the female) Harry simply didn’t have any experience in sexual matters. Oh, he’d heard plenty; from that first embarrassing talk with Mr. Weasley to the purely clinical sexual education Madam Pomfrey held last year to all manner of dirty tidbits his schoolmates were fond of sharing.

Surely though, that would be enough to get somewhere, even if the main focus had been female, and with that thought firmly in mind, he gave Draco’s finger one last hard suck, than deftly tumbled the other teen under him. Certainly once he was on the top, so to speak, he’d be better able to handle the situation. Or at least, that’s what he tried to do.

Draco wasn’t the sort to give over control easily, if ever, and loudly protested this attempted overthrow. He wasn’t too keen on having his finger bath ended, either. Harry had a nice mouth. He wanted it somewhere else, though he was a little nebulous on what Harry was supposed to do with it after that, except that it meant lots of licking. So of course Draco responded to Harry’s efforts by reversing force in the other direction. And Harry, being Harry, fought back.

What started out as a little posted-argument nookie quickly descended into a wholly indecent wrestling match.

“Stop it--“ Draco snapped with some force, using his thin yet strong frame to manhandle Harry back under him, hands slipping and pulling on the sturdy school robes. There was too much clothing in the way and now the comforter was getting yanked into the mess too, and all of it was too hot and constricting.

“Oh, would you just let me--“ Harry managed to get Draco under him, only to draw in a sharp breath when Draco’s thigh went between his legs and pressed against his crotch. He thrust his hips down against the pressure eagerly and panted hard in reaction. This was exactly what he wanted, this feeling.

He could feel Draco become still beneath him and he allowed himself to settle into the tempting heat of the other’s body even though his own body burned with a steady fire. He sucked on his tongue, hips rocking in a motion both familiar and strange. The feeling of Draco’s chest heaving against him was wonderful in its own way; the scent of sweat and desire that clung to the blond made his blood race. His body trembled with want and the fear of an act that left him vulnerable and defenseless. It wasn’t in Harry’s nature to let his guard down, even with those he trusted completely and regardless of spells that prevented the causing of harm.

The knowledge that a trusted friend could truly be a hated enemy was painfully acquired and never forgotten.

Some sense returned through the haze and reminded Harry that there was a lot of Draco right there and he really should put his mouth to good use. Now that he thought of it, he realized he badly wanted to taste the pale teen. He bent his head, not having very far to go, and opened his mouth against Draco’s hot skin, not entirely sure what body part he was drooling on except it somewhere in the neck region.

It was quite shocking when Draco suddenly threw himself forward and shoved Harry to the side and onto his back before collapsing on top of him. Harry let out a squawk of angry surprise and disappointment as that wonderful friction was taken away. He kicked out reflectively; heels catching on the mangled bedding, and distantly heard something hit the floor.

“Right,” Draco was saying between harsh breaths, “Much as I enjoy you getting off on my leg, we aren’t dogs here. Settle back and let me --”

“Like you know any better than I do--” Harry returned, managing to catch a second wind. It wasn’t as much fun when Draco was insulted him. Granted, he was still wound up tight and desperate and aching, and wanted nothing better than to pull Draco taunt against him and move until he reached some sort of satisfaction. It just bogged everything down when Draco wouldn’t cooperate...

“I never said---not being a slut doesn’t---oh hell,” and giving up the conversation for lost, Draco went for direct communion with Harry’s mouth, which was better anyways.

Harry titled his head up to help, and their tongues slid together wetly, slick and hot and rather sloppy. Their teeth clicked and Draco made a hungry noise, roughly exploring the depths of Harry’s mouth until he went too far and the black-haired boy gagged in surprise. Draco was settled with his groin against Harry’s hip, that intimate contact terribly exciting, and his right leg overlapped Harry’s left. He gotten hold of Harry’s wrists again and pushed down on them to hold his torso up.

Finally, they heeded the desperate pleas of their lungs and jerked away from the kiss, pulling in great gasps of air. Harry arched his head back to breath properly. Draco took the chance to attack the unprotected skin, sucking in mouthfuls that were certain to leave marks. Harry thrashed, fingers curling back into the loose bedding, and whimpered pleadingly. The pulling kisses made him feel limp and weak and drawn up tight all at once. Powerful jolts headed southward through his shuddering frame and suddenly not being in control didn’t seem so bad. 

He became aware of cool air brushing through the heat and he focused harder to realize that Draco had released his wrists and was attempting to pull his robes off. Oh nudity, that was a good idea. He’d have to help. Marshalling his arms into action he tugged and yanked until buttons snapped free and dark cloth peeled away from flushed skin. This was just perfect; now Draco had to be naked too.

Before he had the chance to implement that thought into an action, Draco pulled away onto his knees. The absence of touch was almost painful, not to mention extremely frustrating, and Harry called out before he could stop himself.

“Wait.” Draco shushed him, voice gone husky, and with shaking hands tore at his own binding clothing. Pale flesh that Harry had glimpsed countless times that past week but always turned away from was now bared to him, open for his gaze. And wanting it? Or did he imagine Draco’s posing? Some unimportant corner of Harry’s mind noted that he needed to get Draco out in the sun more as he pushed himself up into a partial sitting position.

Harry leaned forward, brushing his lips against soft skin before tickling the arch of Draco’s collarbone with teasing swipes of his tongue. Draco gave a low moan, the sound traveling up from his chest in a way Harry found exhilarating. Eager to encourage more sounds, he continued feathering hot, wet kisses across his partner’s chest. Draco’s robe was held in place only by his arms, which left their underwear as the only other barrier between them.

Shifting forward to move his weight off his arms, Harry pressed his teeth carefully into Draco’s flesh, feeling his entire pale body jerk and heard him give a wanton cry. The force of his heart was painful in his chest as Harry lifted his hands to curl his fingers under the waistband of Draco’s boxers. Touching such a forbidden area made him shake with wanting and impatient for more.

Hands rested on his shoulders, rubbing in wide circular motions with the light brushing of fingertips, as Harry placed one last kiss in the space between Draco’s pectorals and then ducked his head to look down. Draco’s underwear was black---of course---and stretched out over his erection. Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he carefully tugged the boxers down until Draco was completely exposed.

He pushed the boxers as far down as Draco’s position would allow and ran the back of his knuckles up Draco’s pale thighs. Muscles twitched and trembled under his touch. Swallowing hard, Harry spread his fingers over the sharp curves of Draco’s hipbones, feeling more than hearing the other boy’s quickened breathing, before pulling his hands in and downward. Draco jolted as if shocked, moaning deeply when Harry’s palm rubbed up and over his hardness. It was a curious touch, careful and uncertain and not entirely satisfying, but Harry found the contact to be indescribable, his groin tightening with need.

Draco’s fingers dug into Harry’s skin at the continued teasing, until it became too much---or not enough---and he laced his hands together at the back of Harry’s neck and tugged his face upward. Catching Harry’s swollen mouth in a hard kiss, he tumbled them back onto the bed, trying to kick his legs free of his boxers. Draco’s tongue curled demandingly around Harry’s own while his hands worked busily on Harry’s chest and stomach. Those same hands quickly deviated to his underpants and yanked them down to his knees with unnecessary force.

Harry’s pained squawk at this treatment changed into a desperate cry when Draco pressed his hips into Harry. Curling his arms around Draco’s thin chest, Harry began rocking his body up against the contact. Draco whimpered into his mouth and ground their hips together. Harry shuddered. 

Things moved quickly after that, both of them pressing and jerking and twisting together. Pleading whimpers and chest deep moans and harsh pants filled the heated air around them. It was stifling hot with Draco’s robe draped over them and their not-entirely-removed underwear impairing their movements, but the feeling of sweat-slick flesh sliding together and brushing mouths catching brief kisses between heavy breaths made up for those inconveniences.

Harry could feel it gathering in the pit of his stomach, and tightened his hands on Draco’s back, trying to push up harder, faster, needing more, just a little more. There was a stinging in his shoulders where Draco’s nails bit into his skin and even that felt good. He could hardly breathe and everything was winding up so tight and he screwed his eyes shut. Finally, the mounting pressure broke, arching his back up into a bend and drawing a choked cry from his mouth, thick wetness spurting between them.

Draco sobbed something into his ear, then bore down hard against him, and Harry could actually feel the other’s release over his skin. After a long, breathless moment, all the tension drained from them suddenly, leaving the two teens limp and somnolent. Harry loosened his clutch, running tired hands over Draco’s back, trying to get his breathing back to normal. He felt very...nice. Not to mention sweaty, sticky, crushed beneath Draco, worn out, but otherwise altogether happy with the situation.

There was faint mumble from where Draco’s head was tucked into his shoulder. Harry blinked into the fuzzy dimness of the bed canopy. “What?” he questioned softly, drawing vague circular patterns with his fingertips.

“Nothing.” Draco panted out. He lifted his head and looked into Harry’s eyes, expression calm as he searched for something in his new lover’s face. Harry furrowed his brow at the strange look, when Draco lifted his hand, licked his thumb, and wiped something off Harry’s temple. “You’ve still got food on you. No wonder you tasted like gravy.”

Harry stared at him. “Your sense of romance kills me. And you’re getting heavy now; get off.”

“What, no cuddle?” Draco teased, rolling over to the side, the action revealing the smeared mess on their torsos. “Oh, that’s lovely,” the blond snorted, taking a moment to finally get his underwear completely off his legs. He tossed it across the room in a fit of vindictiveness. His robe came off next and was kicked toward the foot of the bed.

“Hmmm...” Harry returned, losing any and all urge to converse. Draco settled heavily against his side, trailing his fingers back and forth over Harry’s collarbone. Harry turned his head and kissed Draco on his forehead, and then the bridge of his nose, then the corner of his eye. “Hmmm...”

“So was it good for you?” Draco muttered, unable to stop the classic line. Harry sighed in defeat and mourned not having the energy to pinch him.

______________________

Professor McGonagall stepped carefully into the Headmaster’s office, though her caution seemed based more on reluctance to be there than on courtesy. Dumbledore himself was standing by the window and didn’t seem to notice her. She frowned faintly and drew herself up before striding purposefully into the room.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore said before she had the chance to announce herself, “Did you ever remove that book with the infertility spell from the library?” He smiled at something out on the school grounds.

McGonagall shook her head, not really surprised by the out-of-the-air comment. “No, I haven’t yet. Why?” He waved his hand dismissively.

“I just have the strong urge to limit the number of Weasleys I’ll have to teach in the future. Didn’t Arthur mention Bill was dating the last time we talked? Ah well,” he closed the shutters with a sharp click and smiled disarmingly at her, “What news do you bring?”

Realigning her thoughts back to their original goal, McGonagall schooled her feature to represent both warning and disapproval. “The day after tomorrow, Lucius Malfoy is coming to Hogwarts.”

__________________

"Harry?"

"Hmmmph?" Harry mumbled into Draco's shoulder.

"I need you to get off my arm." He shifted his trapped appendage to illustrate.

"Why?" Harry was feeling comfortable at the moment, and as such, was adverse to the idea of movement. He briefly cracked one eye and noted how much darker the room at gotten. It was well after sunset, apparently.

"Because this is really gross."

Offended beyond words, Harry jolted upright. Draco took the chance to free his arm and sit up himself. Harry's mouth worked silently while his fuzzed mind fought to come up with the proper response.

"Don't look at me like that! I meant this," the pale blur of Draco's hand motioned to the mess on his stomach, "This is really gross. Good Lord, pay attention."

Oh. Oops.

With an apologetic wince, Harry scooted back against the headboard, noticing the unpleasant stickiness on his own body. Draco slid around him, an erotic tumble of sweaty flesh and the scent of pine and musk. Harry brushed his hand over Draco's side, lingering at the curve of his waist. It was a remarkable action simply because he was allowed to do it. He had the right.

Draco stumbled getting out of the bed, briefly grabbing Harry's thigh for balance. He pushed himself straight and headed for the bathroom. Harry patted at his robe and the bed around him, looking for his glasses. He had the sudden urge to watch Draco wander around naked. He remembered Draco taking them off at some point, but where they got put after that was lost on him.

He squinted at Draco's moving, ghostly pale form and realized that he really didn't want to get up even to find his glasses, though he would have to the further Draco went from him. "Draco, do you know where---"

A startled yelped and the quick, sharp stab of pain in his own foot sent Harry scrambling off the bed. His heavy, languid muscles made moving fast difficult and he staggered slightly as he went to Draco's side. The blond was bent over, rubbing at his foot.

"What happened?" Harry worriedly touched the bent back. Draco stooped over further and snagged something from the floor. When he held it up, distant light reflected off the glass.

"Lose something?"

______________________

"I still can't believe it, canceled," Seamus mourned, bracing his elbows on the table and covering his eyes at the tragedy. "Second game of the year, Gryffindors against the Ravenclaws, canceled!" Dean shook his head at his friends suffering, looking more amused than sympathetic.

"And what else were they supposed to do, hm?" Dean asked him, picking up a goblet and swinging it slightly, "With Harry out for the count and no replacements ready until the next game, there wasn't any other choice."

"I'm sure they could have thought of something!" The Irish boy insisted, throwing himself back in his chair and making wild arm motions, nearly smacking Neville upside the head. "It's not like Harry is injured or anything, he just has," disgusted grimace, "extra baggage."

"Well, that's easy to fix. Truly, I could see Malfoy zipping along after Harry while he goes after the Snitch," here Dean grinned teasingly, "Or maybe they'll just share the same broom."

"You're not funny," Seamus informed him flatly, refusing to show any good humor at this travesty.

"Well, its not like Slytherin can play either," Neville offered diplomatically, "So they're not any better off."

"Exactly!" Dean reached behind Seamus to give Neville an encouraging punch on the shoulder, "That's the way to look at it. Our team may be down without its Seeker, but at least the Slytherin team is down with us."

"Of course, it gives Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw the chance to get better," Neville said, then winced when Seamus glared at him.

"Don't say that like it's a good thing," the taller teen warned darkly. Dean snickered into his drink as Neville gave Seamus a strange look and tried to explain how that wasn't the way he meant it. Ignoring the conversation for the time being, Dean let his gaze wander about the dining hall.

The magicked ceiling above showed promise of a clear day, the few wisps of clouds dispersing in the light of the newly risen sun. Dean hoped it would be warm, wanting to enjoy the last few nice days before the chill and rain really set in. The mingled chatter that filled the air bore a cheerful note. He made a complete visual circuit of the room before settling at the entrance, watching for latecomers.

"And speaking of. . ." Dean muttered to himself, as Draco and Harry walked through the doorway. 

The blond was in the lead, and limping a bit Dean noticed. Harry was close at his heels, dark head turning automatically to check over the Gryffindor table. Draco took an abrupt detour and started for the Slytherin side of things. Harry stopped walking and watched the other boy, who got no more than a dozen feet before stopping himself. Draco looked back over his shoulder and Harry crossed his arms, waiting. Finally, Draco seemed to sigh and aimed back toward the Gryffindors, Harry catching up with him in a heartbeat.

"Seems they can move farther apart now," Natalie McDonald noted from her seat next to Dean, surprising the older teen. Dean glanced at her and shrugged.

"Really?" Seamus chirped, catching the statement like a hawk diving for a pigeon. "Hey, maybe you'll be able to play after all, huh, Harry?" he called down the length of the table.

Pulling out the chair at his usual spot, Harry looked up curiously. "Pardon?"

"The game Harry, you know the Quidditch match that was supposed to be held next week?" Seamus explained with no small amount of annoyance, though it wasn't directed at Harry. The black-haired boy flinched, his face drawing up into a grimace of remembered displeasure, and dropped into his chair. Next to him, Draco groaned.

"God, Quidditch," Draco folded his arms over his plate and hid his head in them. Seamus frowned at the interloper.

"Don't you go and complain," he warned, waving a fork menacingly, "as you're the reason Harry can't play." Draco peeked at him over the top of his arm, his gray eyes reflecting amused scorn.

"Leave it alone, Seamus," Harry sighed, filling his and Draco's goblets, "It's bad enough that I'm missing out, I really don't want to talk about it." Draco roused himself and snagged a few pastries, not seeming to notice when Harry took one.

"But, if you can separate..." Seamus began, motioning with his fork. He looked disgruntled when Dean snatched the eating utensil away.

"Not enough for a game," Harry called back, grabbing another piece of toast to replace the one Draco nabbed.

"But..."

"Hey, where's Hermione?" Neville asked suddenly, killing whatever counter-statement Seamus had ready. Harry blinked and glanced around the table in surprise. Guilt flashed across his features.

"Yeah, and Ron," Harry leaned forward on the table to get a better view of his former dorm mates.

"Ron was still in bed when we headed down," Dean remarked, standing up to get some bacon from a plate set near the outer edge of the table.

"Here's hoping he stays there..." Draco muttered around the rim of his goblet. Harry scowled, leaning back against the other boy. He said something and whatever it was made Draco choke on his drink.

"Hermione too," Lavender spoke up helpfully, "And she must have gone to bed after I went to sleep, because she sure didn't come in before then!" She twittered at that with the other girls.

"I'm sure they have a reason," Harry said with some force. The conversation shifted after that into chatter about upcoming tests. The topic of Quidditch was avoided, but the general unpleasantness of Slytherin's came up frequently.

Dean had been watching the duo since they came in, his forehead creased in thought. Now, he nudged the sulky Seamus, nodding in Harry and Draco's direction when the blond looked up. Seamus titled his head forward and looked down to where the two sat. Draco was half leaning on Harry's shoulder and talking to him in the manner of someone ignoring everything else. Seamus looked back at Dean and rolled his shoulders. 'Yeah, so?' the gesture and expression said.

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded at them again, making a slight motion with his shoulders. 'Pay attention'.

Seamus focused on the pair once more; eyes narrowed in concentration, but again he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, confusion clear. 'I'm not seeing anything'.

Dean let out a dramatic sigh, making some vague shape with his hands and widening his eyes expressively, 'don't you get it?'

Seamus spread his hands apart, palms face up and hunched his shoulders, eyebrows arching in bafflement, 'get what?'

Letting his hands fall on the table, Dean answered aloud, "Never mind," and went back to his breakfast.

"Freak," Seamus replied and impaled his sausage on the fork he'd stolen from the first-year sitting next to him.

______________________

"What are you sulking about now?" Draco wanted to know, holding lightly onto Harry's upper arm as they left the dining hall. "You're no fun like this."

"I'm not sulking," said Harry, "I'm thinking about Hermione and Ron. They didn't show up for breakfast at all." [Doesn't help that I totally didn't notice they were missing and may not have until Neville brought it up. Of course, after last night,] his face heated slightly, [God I hope I don't start  
acting like a nervous idiot around them.]

"You know, they can get through a day without you," Draco told him sarcastically, "And have you thought about how long it’s been since I talked to my friends?" Harry shot him a glare.

"You actually want to talk to people like Crabbe and Goyle?" He demanded, just as sarcastically and with a disgusted shudder for effect. They left the main crowd that was heading back to the dorms to freshen up before classes, aiming towards their own room. Shortly, they were alone in one statue- and door-lined hallway.

"To be honest," Draco started, then tightened his grip on Harry's arm, and hauled the dark-haired boy back against him, "I rather do this..." He nipped gently at the back of Harry's neck, a tender teasing of teeth and warm lips. Harry let out a squeak of surprise, body stirring instantly in reply  
despite his mortification.

"Not in the halls!" He yelped, twisting around in Draco's grip to face his lover. Draco smiled at him in innocent amusement. "No, don't even try that, I'm not buying it." Harry waved a warning finger at him.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What, don't want to shock the teachers? How prudish of you."

"No more prudish than you'd be if the teacher you shocked was Snape," said Harry, batting at the hands that were attempting to grope him. Draco paused to consider that possibility, face bearing a look you would expect on a child who'd just walked on his parents being 'affectionate'. Harry took a step back and folded his arms, earning a dirty look.

"Fine, not in the halls," Draco conceded, "But there aren't any teachers in our room..." He curled his mouth into what was probably meant to be a sexy smirk, but in effect looked like a cat staring at a particularly plumb canary. Either way, it pulled a flustered expression and blush from Harry. Draco twisted his fingers into the sleeve of Harry's robe and tugged him toward their private dorm.

"But...we have class..."

"Very bad excuse. Oh, stop it, it's not like I'm going to do anything serious. And straighten your collar, the hickey is showing."

______________________

It was with some relief that Harry noticed Hermione and Ron sitting next to each other in Charms. He then felt like complete idiot immediately afterwards---of course they would be okay-- but the initial relief was nice. It occurred to him, again, how much it sucked being separated from his friends. Not that he thought about it much, because doing so reminded him what he was getting in return, which in turn made him guilty because Draco still failed to stand up to all his friends represented, which once again reminded him of how he hated being separated from them.

The human thought and emotion process was a nasty thing.

"There you two are," Harry greeted them, hand quickly tugging his collar up higher. Maybe he should have worn that scarf Draco suggested. "We missed you at breakfast."

"Well, we stayed up really late talking and I didn't feel like getting up early," Hermione said, overriding Draco's sarcastically muttered ‘we?’ Ron nodded in agreement, a smile flickering briefly over his face. Harry gave them a thoughtful look, choosing a pair of seats from the table in front of Hermione and Ron's.

"Talking about what?" Harry asked with a hint of wistfulness. Draco took the seat closet to the aisle, pulled out his quills and parchment and bent over whatever it was he was writing. Harry turned his own chair sideways and leaned one arm back against his friend's table. Hermione shrugged.

"Just random stuff," she said nonchalantly, making a few nonsense notations on her paper. She glanced up at him with a glimmer of amusment in her eyes; "We do talk about things when you're not around."

"I should hope so," Harry responded, equally teasing. He made a conscious effort to keep any bitterness out of his tone. "You're being very quiet," he remarked to Ron, regarding the other's distant expression with some suspicion.

Ron focused on him with a blink and flushed slightly, scratching his head in a decidedly nervous gesture. "Yeah, well..." He trailed off and fidgeted in his seat. Harry raised an eyebrow and Ron coughed lightly. "It’s nothing, I'm just thinking."

Draco snorted, not looking up from his work. "That is nothing." Something hot flashed through Ron's eyes, his drifting attention narrowing in on the blond, whose smirk couldn't be seen but was certainly felt. Face twisted with scorn and irritation, the redhead's mouth opened in preparation for a scathing retort.

Hermione slapped her quill onto the table, "Ron, leave it alone. It's too early to start fighting." 

Like a flicked switch, Ron's mouth closed. He shot Hermione a perplexed look, which she ignored, and slumped in his seat, obediently quiet.

At this, Harry's eyebrows jumped into his hairline, surprise reflected brightly in his green eyes. Draco also seemed to notice the uncharacteristic silence, glancing with interest over his shoulder. Before any statement, insults, or teasing remarks could be voiced, Professor Flitwick entered the classroom and commanded the attention of the students as best as he was able.

______________________

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, a moment of your time, please," Professor McGonagall projected her voice, stopping them as they gathered their notes and books together after Transfiguration class. Draco rounded up his conversation with a couple of his classmates while Harry finished arranging his notes in his bag. Most of the class had cleared out at that point and the pair made their way over to  
McGonagall's desk.

She needlessly shifted some papers around on her desk, finally stacking them neatly on the far side. Harry hiked his pack up on one shoulder and let his hand brush Draco's, face assuming an expression of polite interest. Draco had the bored look of a king engaging in activities beneath him. Taking a deep breath and releasing it as if trying to set free all things negative in that one  
act, the Professor speared them both with a look of absolute seriousness.

"Last night, I received a letter from your father, Draco, announcing his intent to visit you here tomorrow. I have conferred with the Headmaster and we have agreed to allow this meeting to take place. However," she continued strongly, seeing the delight transforming Draco's face, "It will be a chaperoned meeting. In addition, school is still in session, and therefore, in no way will either of you be allowed to leave school grounds. Which means, Mr. Malfoy, that regardless of how much you may want to, you cannot return home with your father."

"I wasn't planning on it," came the flippant reply. 

Draco was pleased---not in the slightly vindictive or even mocking way that Harry was accustomed too, but generally pleased, in the innocent way of children. Oddly enough, that made the sick slosh of nervous fear in Harry's stomach worse  
instead of better.

Lucius Malfoy...who came in second place on the list of people wanting him, if not dead, then at least seriously incapacitated. That was something he had to endure and someday face; there simply wasn't any choice in the matter. He'd come to terms with that and he did have support, both emotional and physical. If the situation were different, right after this meeting he'd be running straight to Ron and Hermione to speculate and discuss a plan of action. But he couldn't do that in front of Draco; wouldn't want to even. He knew how Draco felt about his father.

And that was what frightened him.

______________________

Draco tumbled back onto the bed with complete lack of grace that might have earned disapproving looks from his former dorm-mates, should they have been in the room to witness it. Not to say that he would have cared. He was in a pleasant mood that was one part the aftereffect of last night (and the mild messing around this morning) and another part getting to see his father. Granted, the first event was cutting down a bit on his joy of the second.

After all, his main reason in getting his father to Hogwarts was so that he could have the elder Malfoy's assistance in separating him from Harry. Certainly, his father didn't want him shacking up with the enemy anymore than he had and would be more than helpful in changing that fact. That had been his plan in the beginning, but of course, fate liked to play havoc with plans.

The trouble was that now, he rather liked the idea of shacking up with enemy and was planning to keep doing it for a while longer. Should his father find out about this desire, Draco knew he wouldn't approve (probably in the same way he hadn't approved of the time Draco had accidentally burnt down the guest house). That would be potentially bad for all involved.

Things were so much easier when Draco could just leave it up to his father to fix it. Now the situation was totally different and had 'take care of it your own damn self' stamped all over it.

Such suffering.

The bed shifted as Harry sat on the edge and began removing his shoes. "Have you seen Hedwig recently?" the dark-haired teen asked neutrally. "She must think I've been ignoring her."

"I saw Gwydion chasing her off earlier this morning," Draco offered, turning onto his side and curling his arm up under his head. "He was rather nasty about it too by the looks of it." Harry looked over his shoulder, mouth stretched into a crocked, sarcastic grimace.

"Oh, that's positively splendid. Only you would have a homicidal owl." He said, tossing his shoe across the room, resulting in a dull thud on the far wall.

"I sense an insult in there...and not a very good one at that," Draco drawled, reaching up to pluck at the back of Harry's robe. "Especially considering that owls are carnivores." Harry twisted around, breaking the contact.

"I've got some studying to finish," Harry said, bracing his hands on the bed in preparation to push himself up. Draco swung his legs around until they were aligned with Harry's.

"Is that all you can think of to do?" He was gently teasing now as he sat up and slid his arm around Harry's shoulders, hoping to distract them both from less entertaining thoughts. He knew that Harry was responsive to touch and planned to use that to his advantage. Harry hunched under and away from his arm.

"I'm serious," Harry almost snapped, slipping off the edge of the bed.

"You're upset," Draco announced, only just realizing. His brow furrowed with a frown. He hadn't considered this aspect of it; though in retrospect it made sense.

"Absolutely brilliant, your powers of perception continue to amaze me." Harry said, sighing. He dropped his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." 

Draco leaned back on his hands, grazing up at the tattered edge of the canopy ruffle. It only figured that Harry would be having a private hissy fit over his father coming to see them. His lover was too serious, made too much out of everything. What was the saying? Troll caves out of gnome holes. Did Harry honestly think that Draco wouldn't take care of it? There was no need to be afraid of his father; Lucius would never do anything to hurt his only child. Not that it mattered anyway, Draco would not allow Harry to be hurt, not by anyone else, and that was the end of it. Still, did he really expect Harry to have any faith in him?

['Expect'? No...but how wonderful it would be to have...] He shook his head and aimed a self-depreciating smirk at the far wall. Foolish thoughts. He only needed the faith and support of two people in this world and Harry wasn't either of them. And never would be besides. [Deal with what you have; stop looking for more.]

"You're just being an idiot again," Draco said, the superior tone of his voice indicating this was a standard thing and Harry shouldn't be offended by his confirmation of it. "So, studying you said?"

Harry looked up from his life-affirming study of the bedspread. "Yes...studying."

"Better get to it then. God forbid we get bad marks; the world would end."

______________________

Gravel spread itself out underneath the weight of Lucius Malfoy's fine leather shoes, producing a rough crunching sound not unlike the dismayed cries of all those who had ever stood in his path. He was not, at this time, on a mission of revenge; the focused expression on his face lacked the usual amount satisfaction such an act would produce. He went straight to the main entrance for Hogwarts and into the open foyer where a stiff-backed seventh year of uncertain house greeted him instantly.

"Right this way, Mr. Malfoy." The student motioned at the hallway to their right. Lucius came to a full stop and regarded the young adult with strong disapproval.

"I want to see my son," he announced, his voice ringing with unquestionable authority. The student remained as respectful and unmoved as a carved statue.

"Right this way, sir. Your son will be brought to you." The youngster motioned once again, almost bowing, "The Headmaster has arranged a room where you can meet your son comfortably and without distraction."

Lucius' mouth tightened. There was really nothing this student, nor most of the professors for that matter, could do to stop him if he chose to scour Hogwarts in search of his son. Still, he didn't really come here to annoy everyone within reach, which was his normal operating procedures, and the private room would come in handy. Turning on his heel, he walked steadily to and down the hall, leaving his guide to catch up with him. The hall echoed with the firm rhythmic clicks of his footsteps. The student moved quickly to surpass and lead him.

"This one here, sir," the younger male said finally, after a short walk and a few turns. The door he stopped at opened into a small conference room normally reserved for important visits and the rare parent/teacher meeting. "The others will be along shortly, please make yourself comfortable."

Lucius leveled the other with a glare that displayed grave displeasure at the suggestion that he, a mere student, could request Lucius to do anything, polite or otherwise. The student reacted in the way a rock might. Malfoy Senior felt rush of annoyance and anger, yet there was something almost like interest. It was hard to stand up to him without flinching, a fact he took pride in, and seeing it at once enraged him and appealed to him professionally.

[If only he was a Slytherin,] Lucius thought as the student took his leave after an almost overly polite farewell, [Far too many of those blithering idiots lack any backbone at all.] He passed a disinterested glance over the straight-backed armchairs arranged business-like around a sturdy desk and went to stand by the window.

That side of the building faced the Forbidden Forest, a surprisingly splendid view on a bright day, but Lucius hardly cared for it. He had long since lost any fascination for or fear of the Forest; all that remained was the distant respect of one powerful force for another. He folded his hands behind his back, balancing his weight easily into an arrogant stance and stared blankly through the glass. Anyone who might have seen him would have thought he was deeply engaged in something profound and not bothered him.

Some unnoticed clock produced a short Irish violin piece to mark the hour. Annoyance sparked then, at the thought that they would keep him waiting much longer. It was a tactic he had used and the idea of it being used against him was infuriating. A door opened behind him, heralding the sound of someone entering. He turned after a moment, face etched with a frown, entire posture radiating authority.

Dumbledore stood a few feet before the door, hands lightly clasped together before him, head tilted slightly to the right, studying him as though Lucius was an interesting bird he had just happened upon. "Mr. Malfoy. It is, as always, a unique pleasure to see you."

"No doubt, Headmaster," Lucius responded sharply, extra force added to the title. "But my only purpose here is to see my son and I want to do so now."

"The boys have been called from their class; they should be heading this way now. Barring any unwarranted circumstances, of course. The most unusual things happen around here." The elder wizard advanced further into the room, stepping around to one side of the desk and resting a hand on its surface. His expression was mild and distant, neither polite nor fearful nor respectful.

"'They'?" Lucius ignored the rest of the rambling, his mouth twisted into a vicious, mocking version of a smile as he focused on that one fact, "Oh, of course. Harry Potter: my son's new tagalong. Remarkably ironic, isn't it?"

"I've always been rather fond of irony myself. I believe, though, that you see it in a different manner than I do." He patted down his beard and the front of his robe, as though looking for something. "Young Potter is not a follower any more than Young Malfoy is. Rather, they are a matched set. Ah." He pulled something from his robe and set it on the table.

Lucius ignored the action and acknowledged only Dumbledore's statement. "There is nothing 'matched' about them! This whole spectacle is little more than an example of your own gross incompetence!" Lucius drew himself up, "If you and your teachers monitored the students properly---"

"I'm sure we would have found ample reason to have expelled Draco ages ago," Dumbledore interrupted calmly, not unlike a lawyer stating a known fact.

"How dare you even suggest---"

"Not to mention," the Headmaster continued undeterred. "That we would have prevented dozens - nay, hundreds - of other incidents that have made life so much more difficult." He nodded sadly. "Yes, I too mourn our inability to know everything that happens."

Lucius exhaled the air he'd gathered for his next retort, uncertain of how to take that remark. It contained a truth he had no interest in confronting. So, when other roads fail: detour.

"Pleasant as it is to converse with you, Headmaster, it is not my reason for being here," Lucius reminded him, rather pointlessly.

"Of course, of course. Not much longer now." Dumbeldore assured him. "I must also remind you that as we are still in the school year, Draco is under Hogwarts guardianship and should not be removed from the grounds."

Lucius snorted. "That doesn't mean I can't take him home with me. Especially if Draco insists on it."

"True, to a certain extent." Dumbledore titled his head in acknowledgement. "Your guardianship does supercede our own...for Draco. Harry Potter is another matter entirely. Regardless, even Draco would not be allowed leave unless it was because of a family emergency or if Draco himself where suffering from a severe affliction of some form."

Lucius thought he covered his reaction to the comment rather nicely, responding with a smooth, "I imagine it shouldn't be too hard to...handle such problems. It is in the boy's best interest after all, to get him separated from my son. And I believe that a spell constitutes an affliction."

The expression on Dumbledore's face gave Lucius no clue as to how much the elder wizard believed him. The whole meeting bothered him, made things less clear-cut than he had intended them. Not that it mattered in the end; the situation would go his way, no question. 

He passed his hand down over the right front side of his robe, his fingers brushing over a small, round object secure in an inner pocket.

No question at all.

______________________

"Father!" Draco called has he shoved aside the half-open door into the meeting room. Harry followed two steps behind, looking like he'd rather be on the other side of the school entirely. Draco paused once he was past the doorframe, allowing Harry the chance to glance over his shoulder. A slight chill went down his spine when he spotted Lucius standing there, even though he was expecting it and despite Dumbledore's presence.

Lucius Malfoy turned slowly toward the door at his son's loud entrance, appearing only mildly interested in the arrival. He regarded the younger male with the professional pleasantry of one meeting a long time, but rarely seen, associate. Draco drew himself up straight; in such a way that Harry could practically feel the gathering of pride and arrogance and cloaking superiority that stated he was a Malfoy, and don't you ever forget it.

"Father," Draco repeated, calmer and more stately this time. "I've missed you." He made his way across the room, leaving Harry with no choice but to follow after. The darker teen noticed how Lucius's face shifted slightly, becoming more open.

"It's good to see you, Draco," Lucius admitted, bending over slightly to grace his shorter son with a quick, polite hug that nonetheless held certain affection. Harry lingered back several paces, feeling completely out of place and fighting the irrational urge to yank Draco away from his father and haul him someplace far away. Somewhere with a bed. And a fireplace. And maybe room service.

Harry shook his head; in the processes catching the reassuring smile and wink that Dumbledore sent his way. The Headmaster was leaning back against the desk and had been, up until that point, whistling some obscure musical piece. Harry tried vaguely to smile back, but was more concerned with Draco, who was stepping back from his father.

"I'm glad you were able to take time out of your day to visit," Draco said. "You're usually pretty busy this time of year." A smug tone accompanied that, and he turned his head to glance at Harry out of the corner of his eye, indicating his own importance in his father's life. If he were feeling any less tense, Harry would have scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Rather than disregarding his son's words with a fatherly 'Seeing you is more important', Lucius nodded and said, "Yes, the timing is bad, but Mr. Oisian should be able to handle the details until I return." He motioned to the arrangement of armchairs, an invite to sit, and sat in the chair closest to himself.

Draco took his own chair, leaving only the Headmaster and Harry standing. Harry hurriedly took the seat next to Draco, feeling the powerful need to stay close. Father and son began a subdued conversation that involved people and events and paperwork that held no interest to Harry.

For his part, Harry was utterly baffled and at something of a loss. A little abandoned and ignored too, but that didn't concern him as much. Other than an initial, dismissing look, Lucius hadn't even acknowledged him. He'd half expected the older man to go into a rage of denial and anger and throw himself foaming at the mouth at Harry once he'd entered. The fact that everyone was being so civil and polite about the whole affair had killed all the mental preparation he had engaged in last night. (After somehow managing to appease a hurt Draco, who'd been very disgruntled when Harry's worrying had ruined the tow-headed teen's attempts at intimacy.) Now he was left feeling more than a little stupid.

Not that he was foolish enough to consider Lucius harmless, not by a long shot, but it appeared that Mr. Malfoy wasn't going to start a fight on Hogwarts grounds. It was just that it seemed so silly now; with Dumbledore sitting comfortably in the chair on the other side of the desk, a silent guardian, and Lucius focused only on his son, showing no interest in upsetting the strange little universe he and Draco had built around themselves. Maybe he would get through this after all, a possibility that filled him with something like relief.

But it was all so anti-climatic!

"...the one that had to do with protecting endangered Troll species?" Draco was looking at him curiously, tapping his hand to get his attention. Harry blinked, pausing while his brain automatically switched into search mode to locate the answer.

"Um, the Orggelrock Treaty?" he ventured, recalling the details of the History lesson that had covered it.

"Right!" Draco turned back to his father, unconsciously giving Harry's hand a grateful squeeze. "Even under the rights of the Treaty, they still must have written proof that the species is endangered before they can shut down the mining operation..."

In the same way a scurrying mouse catches the attention of a hungry cat, so did Lucius noticed the brief handclasp. A quick downward glance, then his gaze panned up to meet Harry's. The look on his face was assessing, but the light in his eyes was threat-sharp. Harry's stomach flip-flopped unpleasantly, his heart picking up speed even as he tried to keep his expression frank and unafraid. Lucius's attention shifted seamlessly back to Draco.

[Okay, I take it back. I can handle dull and anti-climatic. Seriously. In fact, I'd love it, just as long as whatever bad thing he's planning doesn't end up ruining the rest of my day,] Harry forced a quiet, calming breath while trying to not look like he was panting in terror. Wouldn't do to give the wrong impression. [Screw the day; the rest of my life.]

"That is similar to what Mr. Oisian planned, but I will be sure to tell him your suggestions," Lucius was saying, and Harry suddenly regretted having missed most of the conversation. Draco did retain a lot of information---though most of it must fly out of his head during tests---and it was interesting to listen to what came out. "But to change the subject, do you think it would be possible for me to speak with my son alone for a few minutes?" Lucius spoke now to Dumbledore.

Draco cocked his head, eyes flicking towards Harry as the Headmaster frowned thoughtfully. Harry thought he saw nervous fear flash across the blond teen's face, before the pale features smoothed out into calm acceptance. Panic prickled spider feet down his spine.

"You can stand listening at the door, if you please," the cultured voice was now thick with sarcasm, "And 'alone' means without the precious Harry Potter present, so you shouldn't have to worry much for his well-being." Lucius smirked at Draco to share his distain with his heir.

Harry couldn't help the glare of disapproval and betrayal that stole across his features when Draco let out a soft, mocking laugh in agreement. He'd expected as much from Draco, honestly he had, but that didn't stop the glimmer of pain deep inside. It wasn't like the lanky blond had had any intention of telling his father about them---'Oh, on that matter, Harry and I are shagging and would you please stop trying to kill him?'----Still, it was a nice thought. Draco had his full attention on his father and subsequently missed the glare.

Dumbledore folded his hands together on the desk and leaned forward. "What do you think, Harry?"

Harry started, head whipping around toward the elder wizard. "Pardon?"

"I fail to see how his opinion has anything to do with this," Lucius said scornfully.

"Consider it politeness," was Dumbledore's explanation. "Harry, would you be willing to remove yourself from that comfortable armchair and accompany me to the hall for a few minutes, even though it would require being some distance from Draco?"

"I...well, um..." Harry hedged uneasily, trying to catch Draco's eyes so he could read the other boy's reaction but Draco had his head turned aside. "We have been able to tolerate longer separations..."

"We'll manage, it's not that far," Draco announced suddenly, sitting straighter his chair, "And I can handle a little pain." Now he looked at Harry, a sidelong glance full of challenge. "Can you?"

Defiance sparked and Harry arched his brow, scorn sharpening his words; "I faced worse things than you have, Draco. Considering that I seldom ran screaming from them, I dare say your resistance is in far greater question than mine." Draco grimaced with anger at this slight, his eyes flaring with something hateful and deep-seated. Their gazes locked in a challenge-stare for a moment or two before Draco turned away in an obvious snub.

Fully aware he was receiving displeased glares from more than one angle and still irritated with his lover's behavior, Harry lifted his chin and held his back straight. "I'm fine with it; they can talk alone if they want."

Dumbledore considered him from under the brim of his hat, idling tapping the ends of his fingers together. "Very well then! Fifteen minutes soon as we step through the door, not a heartbeat longer." He pushed himself to his feet with some theatrical stiffness and groaning, "Up and off with us. Family business is best tended to by the family themselves."

Harry swallowed, only just realizing that agreeing to this meant he had to leave now, this instant, and that realization swept through his anger. He started to his feet, intending to hold his upset close and hard and not acknowledge Draco on his way out, but he couldn't do it. Without meaning too, he grasped lightly at Draco's hand and their fingers clutched together briefly. When Draco looked at him again with a softness to his expression that hadn't been there since they'd entered the room, Harry understood. Understood, forgave, and admonished himself, all in a heartbeat without fully comprehending what had just transpired.

The blond shook his head, pushing away Harry's hand and making a short shooing gesture, "Enough drama, get on with it." His tone was mocking, but pitched lower and warmer than earlier and there was a difference in the way he held himself. That difference went with Harry as he gave Lucius the same barely-civil nod the older man granted him and follow Dumbledore across the chamber and out the door.

Then they were in the hall, several dozen feet and a solid oak door between him and Draco. His insides twisted with fear and other nameless things, but not the spell for once. [Small mercy.] He forced a deep breath. [God, am I pathetic...I'm sure I'd be right embarrassed if I weren't so bloody worried...]

A warm hand clapped his shoulder. "Fifteen minutes; something of an eternity when you're upset," Dumbledore said with good humor, "Fear not, I'm not as scattered brained as I like to think! All is being looked after."

"It's not that..." Harry murmured, leaning against the doorjamb, an age and distance in his face that saddened the older man, though Harry didn't know it.

"Faith can be very helpful, all on its own," was the end of the conversation.

______________________

“Hm, I’d thought we’d get more of a fuss than that,” Lucius remarked as the door clicked shut. 

Draco shrugged awkwardly, not sure how to reply. Honestly, it had been more than enough fuss for him. [Ooh, it’s not going to be fun talking to Harry after this---Not that I should be dwelling on that with my father here,] He forcibly reminded himself with an internal wince.

“Draco,” Lucius started, sighing deeply when he saw he had his son’s attention once more, “I sent them off because I want to talk to you. I want you to come home. There are ways to sort out this mess of a spell that’s got you bound up with Potter.” The name was said like a curse. “Just not the sort of ways the narrow-minded professors of Hogwarts would approve.”

“Black magic, hmm?” Draco smirked faintly, eyes roving across the neatly furnished room. He’d been expecting this, more or less, but still wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it. He didn’t want to go because he knew how much harder it would be to hide his attraction of---and physical meanderings with---Harry inside Malfoy Mansion. He also didn’t want the spell broken just yet, while it still provided a useful excuse.

“And go against the Ministry? Really Draco, who do you think I am?” Lucius said. They shared a glance and both laughed at the familiar joke.

“But!” Draco raised a finger and waved it, his expression and voice making the words into a jest. “They said we couldn’t leave the school.”

“Actually, they can’t keep you here if you insist on leaving,” Lucius said reasonably. “Especially if you are under a spell and I can provide proof that the only way to break it would be in our home.”

Draco assumed an expression of disbelieve. “’Proof’? If your planning on using the Darker magicks---“

“False proof, Draco,” Lucius said, a hint of warning entering his tone, “I know better than that.” The disapproval in his face made Draco wince in apology.

“Still, isn’t that more effort than necessary at this time?” He offered consolingly, “I’m not exactly dying here---though I wouldn’t put it past Weasley to try---so a few more months won’t make any difference.” [At least as far as you’re concerned. And I really can’t believe I’m arguing with my father over this...damn you Harry.]

Lucius favored him with a long, thoughtful look. Draco imagined his saw suspicion in those familiar eyes and the knot of worry in his stomach tightened. This was not a situation he had ever wanted to be in.

“This spell...” Lucius spoke slowly, his brow lowered in thought, a dark look in his eye. “It makes you very protective of Potter.” It was not a question, but Draco bristled fearfully anyway.

“Well, that’s nature of it, but I’m not---“

“I have something for you,” Lucius interrupted a touch sharply, “A gift from your mother.” He reached into the chest area of his robe and pulled out a spherical object. Draco blinked at it, startled at the sudden change of subject and surprised that his mother had a gift for him when it wasn’t his birthday or Christmas.

He held out his hand and accepted the gift in his curved palm. “I’ll be sure to send her a thank-you note.” It was perfectly round and clear blue with a glimmer of green and black at its center, and maybe twice the size of a marble. “What is it?”

“A privacy charm, so she told me.” Lucius shrugged and smoothed the fall of his robe. “Supposed to light up red when someone is eavesdropping or getting into your things. Something of that fashion.” A reproving look came over his features. “She told me she found it horrible that you had so little space and time to yourself.”

Draco clenched his hands around the shimmering ball, suddenly missing his mother with a passion. How long had it been since he’d seen or heard from her? “How is she?”

“Oh, she has her complaints. The new cook doesn’t boil the beets right and the house elf doesn’t understand how important it is to keep the mantel dust free, but otherwise she is doing very well.” Lucius leaned forward slightly, his voice taking a deeper, more familiar tone, “She misses you.”

Swallowing against an unexpected rush of emotion, Draco nodded. “As do I.” It had been easy to lose track of the outside world when it was just Harry and himself, and it was something of a surprise to realize he hadn’t gotten his weekly letter from his mother. He hadn’t even noticed. He closed his eyes at the sense of loss and abandonment that created.

“It’s upset her, you know, everything about this spell,” Lucius continued, watching Draco closely, “She’s been worried about you these past days. It would do her good to have you home again.”

Opening his mouth with a volley for that one too, Draco was overwhelmed with a flood of homesickness he hadn’t felt since his first week of his first year of Hogwarts. It stole the words from his throat and filled his head with images and scents and sounds that spoke of home. The glimmer of sunlight on the moat. The scent of dinner from the kitchen. Sitting in the garden with his mother while she read through the dozens of letters she received on a daily basis. Running through halls filled with the chatter of hundreds of family portraits talking family history. The warmth of his father’s study. The sound of the fireplace roaring softly in his own bedroom.

“I...I want to...go home...” he whispered softly without intending too. Lucius’ face brightened visibly and he patted Draco’s arm in an affectionate manner.

“Don’t worry about the school or the professors; I can handle them well enough. We’ll get to the mansion and handle all this nonsense with Potter in no time.” His hand tightened warmly on Draco’s lower arm, a loving fatherly grasp.

Draco sprang from it as if stung; has startled by this reaction as Lucius was. A sharp painful pulling in his chest sent him to his feet and stumbling away. “Father, I really can’t,” he stammered uncertainly, rolling the charm-ball back and forth between his palms. [I want to, I want to, I want home. I can’t I can’t I can’t.] His stomach felt like it was trying to rip itself apart and he bit his lip in horror when he saw anger flash on his father’s face.

“You said you wanted too and I assure you I can mange it,” Lucius countered, something Draco couldn’t define sharpening his tone. He stood up and Draco unintentionally fell back a step. “Draco?”

“Yes?” [What’s wrong with me?? He wouldn’t hurt me! This is so stupid!] Confusion lashed up his thoughts and he couldn’t seem to think straight. The homesickness was so powerful he could taste it and the solution for it was right here, he simply had to agree to it. [Harry isn’t safe in my father’s house. I can keep him safe. No, no, no, he isn’t safe in my father’s house. I have to go home, I have to! I want my own bed and my own books and everything I know...but, but...]

“What’s wrong?” Lucius moved toward the stricken teen with obvious concern, but Draco drew away from him again in the direction of the door. Anger darkened his next words. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No! Of course not! I...I just...” His heart beat a fast tempo in his chest and he clutched at the charm, feeling the shape of it hot and hard against his skin. The open air of the meeting room was thick and strange in a throat that wanted most of all to be breathing the air of the Malfoy estate. “I want to stay here.” The words came out weaker than he intended. He tried to speak them again and found he couldn’t.

Lucius paused, brows lowering, frustration evident through the anger. His hands clutched at the sides of his robe. “Draco, I’m going to take you home with me,” he said slowly and forcefully, turning the words into an order.

Body shaking, Draco swallowed hard, no longer able to understand his own reactions and thoughts. [Can't disobey, shouldn't disobey, need to go home.] He took several more steps closer to the door, not once looking away from Lucius.

[Not safe in my father's house, not safe in my father's house.]

Whatever else may have happened, whether it was an agreement that meant to spill from Draco's opened mouth or a drastic action on Lucius part, was brought to a halt when a loud, piercing wail came from the direction of the desk. At the same instant, the sphere in Draco's hands became white-hot and he dropped it with a cry.

Like a splash of ice water, the babbling confusion and desperate longing fell away and left him gasping. The charm hit the wood floor with a sharp crack, bounced once, and rolled several feet before coming to a stop. Light flashed vividly across its surface before the whole thing went black. The wailing from the desk abruptly stopped. Draco looked down at the charm, then up at his father, horrified.

"You..."

The door burst open then, just as Lucius started forward. Draco didn’t look behind him to see who it was, couldn’t seem to notice anything beyond the look of rage on Lucius’ face, but he recognized the arms that went around his middle and saw the back of Dumbledore’s robe as the Headmaster came to stand before him.

“You sir, are to leave immediately,” Dumbledore was saying, and Draco was being pulled backwards, Harry franticly saying something in his ear. And Lucius was still staring at him, and the anger and hate in that beloved face tore apart his insides.

It was all confusion after that. More adults appeared and pushed and pulled the two teens quickly from the room and the scene building there. Draco felt too numb to respond to anything and allowed himself to be manhandled. The sound of his father’s yells followed him through the halls. Harry was a solid weight and warmth at his side, holding him up for his own body was having trouble cooperating.

“Draco! Draco!” Warm breaths against his ear, a worried note he didn’t know how to acknowledge. “Say something!”

“He appears to be shock. Hurry now, to the hospital wing.”

After a hazy timeless passage through hallways and up stairs, he was laid back in a soft bed and covered with blankets; only vaguely aware he was shivering. His mind was a humming blank, his gaze fixed unseeing on the ceiling. He didn’t notice anything else for a long while afterwards.

______________________

"Harry! Hey, Harry!"

Harry came to a stop, looking in the direction of the yell before spotting Ron's autumn-brilliant locks. Draco continued on without him, kicking idly at the leaves that covered the ground like feathers on a bird’s back, head titled back to take in the gray, overcast sky. Harry watched him for a moment, but let him go on and waited for Ron.

"Hullo Ron," Harry greeted his friend as the boy jogged up to him.

"Good to see you out and about," Ron said cheerfully, panting slightly from his run. Harry winced for show, recalling that he and Draco both had been a pair of shut-ins during the four days since Lucius Malfoy's visit and the subsequent shunning of Draco by his Slytherin classmates.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I'm afraid I've been neglecting you..." he began softly, gaze turning unerringly to where Draco walked a slow pace toward the borders of the Forest.

"None of that now," Ron interrupted, clearly hearing the guilt. "Didn't get the chance to tell you earlier but...well, Hermione and I, we..." he stopped and cleared his throat, "We understand, all right?" He gave Harry a hopeful look, shifting about awkwardly. Harry smiled and nodded.

"Thanks." There was a slight pull in his chest and up ahead, Draco stopped and stood waiting with arms folded.

"How's he doing?" Ron asked quietly, appearing genuinely interested.

"Better than I expected," was all Harry would admit to. In honesty, it had been a horrible past few days, with Draco getting increasingly tense and hostile, before he had a complete breakdown just yesterday morning. It had been a painful thing to watch and even more agonizing to wade into it and try to pick up the pieces. Until then Harry had only known what had happened on his side of the door: how he'd stood there becoming increasingly frantic, when a sudden shrieking had come from the room and Dumbledore had announced that it meant Lucius was enacting a spell of some form.

Hearing Draco choke out the whole thing had sent him into tears as well. Draco had known that his father didn’t always do things on the sunny side of legality, but it had been something of a game: a play against the Ministry and their pompous, limiting restrictions. The probations against Dark Magic, so Lucius had told Draco, were simply the Ministry’s ways of impeding upon the advancement of more powerful wizards and pointlessly protecting Muggles. It had never occurred to Draco that Lucius would use that same magic against him. He also seemed oblivious to the darker deeds Lucius had performed on other wizards, leaving Harry to think that Draco was far more sheltered than he believed.

They'd talked late into the night after they both had calmed down, (they'd had the time for it since they were once again excused from regular classes, though they started again tomorrow), and that night they took a different kind of comfort with each other.

But all that, of course, was not for Ron to know.

"Hope it continues to improve, then," Ron said with honest feeling. Then, much to Harry's surprise, Ron pulled him in for a quick, strong hug. "I meant it when I said we understand. I won't pretend to like Draco, but you're my friend, and that's that however you cut it. I won't give you any gripe for anything regarding Draco and neither will 'Mione." He pulled away and grinned into Harry's startled face.

"I...thank you," Harry felt his throat tighten with gratefulness and wished he was better with words. Ron simply shrugged and nodded toward something in the distance.

"Time for me to be off, but we will have to spend more time together later." He said, giving Harry an affection swat on the shoulder when the other boy snorted. Ron jogged off again with a grin.

"Bye!" Harry called, watching him go. Ron met up with Hermione as she came out of the greenhouse and both waved at Harry before setting off on their own mission. For a moment their hands came together as they walked, palm-to-palm fingers interlacing, and then separated once more.

[Oh, really?] Harry let out a soft huff of laughter and shook his head. That would be an interesting conversation someday, he was certain. But for today, he continued on his intended path, a new brightness to his expression. Draco remained as he had been before, tracing patterns in the leaf cover with his toes. Harry came up beside him and, since the yard was mostly empty, slid an arm around Draco's waist.

"Have a nice talk?" his fair lover inquired as they matched pace.

"Yes," Harry smiled. "Quite surprising, actually."

"Hmm," Draco replied, clearing showing his disinterest in anything further. 

They followed the path that ran around the lake in silence, leaving it once they reached the part closest to the Forbidden Forest. Walking carefully over the damp, slippery leaves, they came to rest on the arching root of an old oak tree whose branches were almost entirely bare. The rough trunk provided a barrier against prying eyes of the school. Harry pulled Draco close against his chest, pressing his face into the warm, downy skin at the back of his neck.

"You stood up to your father for me...” he mouthed soundlessly on Draco's skin, finishing the rest in his head; [...so you maybe you do love me after all.]

"Hm, what was that?" Draco questioned, hands closing warmly on Harry's wrists and pulling them around his waist.

"Nothing." He lifted his face and placed his chin on Draco's shoulder. "Just nonsense."

[And maybe someday, I'll be strong enough to say it myself...and know your feelings for certain.]

The wind picked up with a rustle, pulling the leaves from the trees like rain from the clouds and sending the sound of Harry and Draco's breathing out across the forest.

______________________

End


End file.
